Defining oneself by
A mistake,
Interminable penance,
Reliving a moment
Over and over.
The understanding
That we can change,
Evolve,
Heal and rectify
Missteps from the past.
Moving forward
Openly,
Consciously,
The majesty of
Change.
He doesn’t like
Political correctness,
Even though all
It means
Is not being
A jerk
To others.
Arms crossed,
Scrunched face,
Pouty lip,
Poor little tycoon
Sulks theatrically,
Explodes indignantly,
Threatens to withhold
Contrived largesse,
A normally selfless gesture
Becomes just another
Bargaining chip.
It’s all fine and dandy
When you can do it
Without being discovered,
But quite another when
Your modus operandi and
Shriveled heart
Are starkly on display,
Then you have to face
What kind of person
You’ve become,
It still doesn’t matter,
You’ve been through it before,
It’s how you got here.
He remembers a time
When he assumed that
What he was saying
Mattered, that it was
Being taken into account,
Considered as important
In some way, part of the
General decision-making
Process that occurs
In a family, then
The day came when
He realized his words
Had no weight at all.
At one of
Many thousands of
Enormous stores,
Filled with cheap things
Fabricated by impoverished
Hands in parts of the
World out of sight and mind,
Lavishly benefiting one
Obscenely wealthy,
Compassionless family,
Whose snickering members
Give almost nothing
To charity thanks to a
Fiendishly clever
Tax-evading foundation,
Another employee’s
Already meager hours
Are cut to reduce
Operating expenses,
Though routinely
Expected to work overtime,
Off the clock,
Or be replaced.
It was done to me,
So I’m going to
Do it to others.
I didn’t have it easy,
I had to fight for
Everything I’ve got.
I pulled myself up
By the bootstraps,
I shouldn’t have to
Support anyone else,
They’re all lazy,
I’m hard working,
They don’t deserve
Success like I do.
Let them shrivel
On the vine if they
Can’t figure it out,
It’s survival of
The fittest.
Perhaps it’s the
Repetition of ideas,
Labeled as common sense,
Rehashed and regurgitated
Way too many times,
Losing their original sting,
The memory of stern faces
Telling them what to believe,
The inability to bounce back
From the continuous onslaught,
The required rationalization
Of reprehensible positions,
That leads them to conclude
And say out loud,
Without a second thought,
That some people merit
Unconditional derision,
Exclusion, punishment.
As with most of the
People she surrounded
Herself with, Samantha
Preferred to live on
The surface, stumbling
From one experience or
Heartache to another,
Leaving buried the more
Meaningful things that might
Lead to actual fulfillment,
Pretending everything
Was fine and manageable.
A slimy, diseased presence
Insinuating itself into daily
Discourse, spreading spores
Infecting the conversation,
Blurring the lines of veracity.
Small, petty, diseased creatures
Bloviating about the latest
Manufactured outrage,
Anti-truth serum pulsating
Through collapsing veins.
Feeding more coal into the fire,
Stoking the flames of discord,
Prurient power fantasies,
Conscience gagged, extinguished,
Kneeling at the altar of money.
