(This is the previous posted poem, formatted differently. I’d love to hear if there are any preferences for one form over the other.)
you are like black ice.
I could not have prepared.
my bone cracks on the cement where you cling
and you value the dishonorable face of this?
or have blinded your heart to the sight
your agenda desires my reaction as fodder for your mill,
my art as proof that you hold power you have not earned
“I did that! I did! Do you see? Do you see ME?”
I feel your sting through shrunken miles, but am disinclined to look.
can’t see you clearly through your venomous web and bloodstained armor
or your pout like the child, or your whine like the tire on the long, long road
yet the righteousness you claim under self-given mandate
still burns into my eye. and the flimsy cloak
you wear over dubious duality
only states the case against you
and makes one who you beg to look,
want to go back to you as crying child to give you what you needed then
and avert my gaze from today’s tantrum
I did not tattoo you with the harm you wear.
I do not expect you to see mine.
whatever you see in me after my slip,
if it fits your goal,
you, and all others with bloodstained armor, shall never hold credit for this.
all credit for what I show is mine.
my armor may be invisible to you, or unimportant.
its weathered brown stains are my ancient blood,