Business as usual

Spit

On your face.

Sticky.Nasty.

Worse than a slap across the face.

So you can decide

To wipe it off,

And curdle your own saliva in the back of your throat

And spit back.

 

How many silent offenses can you bear?

Subtle reminders of ‘your place’ in the world?

How much anger can you stifle with reason

How many times can you tell yourself that ‘They don’t know any better?’

How many mornings can you sweetly smile

At the ones who cause you so much misery?

How much? How many?

Til when?

 

The tragedy of dying silently

Of fuming silently within,

Is that nobody sees the fire

Though the house within is ablaze

And they will quietly walk past your house

Unaware of your inferno

As business continues as usual.

 

 

 

 

 

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