What does it mean to fight anymore
It’s all smooth-faced, puffy-lipped little girls
fighting for each other’s attention
begging to be seen
It’s all little rascals sitting in the back of class
fighting to be known, yelling at their teacher
as a cover for something that cuts us deeper
We pretend, we put on this show
as if we really are that shallow and scared
All of us are and none of us are
so distilled, so reduced
so caught up in the tiny boxes we’ve built
Just hoping our complexity isn’t killed
Before the in betweens were stripped away
by spectacle and painted words
It was the silence
that carried the very thing we crave
It was the summer sun
searing our grass stained minds
and intoxicating us with a warmth so strong
It could be summoned
even in our final days
Instead we slice ourselves into bite-size bits
rehearse our ways of being
running in and out of frame
to keep up the illusion
that our richest parts
aren’t cradled in the mundane
So what does it mean to fight anymore
What does it mean to love
Is it enough
to shake yourself out of that little mold
so that you may recognize your own hands
and see your own children for who they really are
long after they’ve left your arms