too late

you
you sold me soap boxes
and i pinned all my worth to them
now i'm falling through
you
you're a fraud like all of the poets
who find comfort in presence and stillness
what a privilege to do

you say you don't stand for it
like you weren't the one who made it our fate
you say that you regret it, that you'd take it back
135 years too late
so tell me what i'm supposed to do now
how am i supposed to breathe, walk these halls
knowing you'll never fight for me?
you pride yourself in answers
why so silent now?

they
they're good at getting angry
cause they're better rested than me
i feel glued to my bed
they
they learn of reality in stories and scriptures
they see violence in pictures and it paints them red

and they'll never know the half of it
but at least they know something
and they'll never feel the half of it
at least they say they feel something

you say you don't stand for it
like you weren't the one who made it our fate
you say that you regret it, that you'd take it back
135 years too late
so tell me what i'm supposed to do now
how am i supposed to breathe, walk these halls
knowing you'll never fight for me?
ever condemning violence
why so silent now?

you watch as they pull
their eyes back and pose
as long as they feel pretty
as long as i'm quiet
we painted our worth
and you brought out the hose
as long as they feel safe
as long as we don't fight it
you'll cover your tracks with
50 folding chairs and a promise
you don't intend to keep
you'll pace like a villain with his monologue
and you say you don't stand for it
and maybe i'll fall for it, again

it's hard to think
and it's hard to feel
and it's hard to study like my future has meaning
it's hard to speak
it's hard to fight
but you sent an email so i should be alright