#excerpt from a book

enough.

it hurts enough to physically manifest itself in the throbbing corners of my chest

enough to let gravity get a hold of my eyes

enough to force me out of a stable state of mind

enough to push me into the corners of the bed, shaking

enough to revive all the thoughts i have long fought to forget

enough to make me feel like i wasn’t, i was never, i will never be

enough.

must blood water the streets first
before you draw open the curtains
to the roaring commotion of the people
beneath the tall glass windows?

must the sky ooze red
from the loss of so much innocence
and must the thunders howl
the painful screams of the slain poor
before the cold harsh winds of truth
force its way into the tall glass windows
of you, privileged few?

need a hurricane shatter your fragile ideals
so you can smell the reek of death and utter decay?
need a storm flood your sheltered morals
so you can feel entrapped in the jaws of your own cruelty?

for although you can run, you cannot outrun
the blood that has been left dry on your tender hands
the night you closed your gates and went to sleep
while the streets fought to keep its eyes open.