I’m
I’m a virtuoso getting nervous at the strings.
I’m the chorus with no drums that everybody sings.
I’m a bird without a beak, a church without a steeple,
a rally with no people, a front door with no peep-hole.
I’m every faceless nameless person on the streets,
I’m a rap with no beats.
I’m a child soldier killing millions, I can’t speak.
I’m a hurricane decimating until destruction’s complete,
destruction birthed in my head carried out by my feet,
the same feet beneath which walls crumble and creep
into small particles of brick dust that get weak.
I’m every tear shed by the people that weep
and mourn the loss of those who die of disease.
I’m TB, HPV, and HIV.
I’m a barren wasteland and the saltiest sea.
I’m everybody but me.
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