EQUILIBRIUM
EQUILIBRIUM
You always manage to tilt the ground beneath me,
Catching me off balance with your sharp dissections,
Your relentless inquisitions into yesterday's shadows.
Words flung like scalpels, carving up the past,
Exposing veins I thought were long since healed,
Only to bleed anew under your scrutinizing gaze.The messages cascade down endless assembly lines,
Conveyor belts of half-truths and fragmented signals,
Relayed in code that twists and turns without end.
They pile up, incomplete, like puzzles scattered wide,
Missing corners, edges frayed and lost to the void—
What picture were they meant to form? A truce? A trap?Perhaps your intent was sly, a calculated detour,
To lure me into my own wandering tangents,
Where my thoughts spiral, lose their footing in the mist,
And my defenses crumble, misguided and astray.
You watch as I falter, hoping I'll stray from the path,
Entangled in vines of doubt you yourself have sown.Yet, no matter the chaos, I always emerge through this door,
Bruised but unbroken, stepping into the light—
But oh, the irony: I am deemed too gay, too white,
Too something-or-other to be worth the fight.
Dismissed as unworthy, a cause not noble enough,
Left to fend alone in battles you claim to abhor.For you, neutrality reigns supreme, a throne of inaction,
More vital than dismantling the myths that bind us all—
Ignorance woven into presumption's heavy cloak.
You stand aside, arms folded, as the storm rages on,
Preferring the safety of silence over the risk of upheaval,
Letting echoes of old prejudices linger in the air.You fail to embody the sermons you so eloquently preach,
Words of justice ringing hollow in the empty hall.
Hypocrisy cloaks you like a velvet robe,
Permitting persecution to thrive unchecked,
Dressed up in cleverly disguised subtitles—
Euphemisms that soften the blade but deepen the wound.In the absence of equivocal standards, fair and true,
I am forever framed in shadows of implied accountability.
Burdened with sins not my own, painted as the villain
In a narrative scripted by hands that never touch the page.
How long must I carry this weight, this unearned chain?
Until the assembly lines halt, and the puzzles find their peace.
Catching me off balance with your sharp dissections,
Your relentless inquisitions into yesterday's shadows.
Words flung like scalpels, carving up the past,
Exposing veins I thought were long since healed,
Only to bleed anew under your scrutinizing gaze.The messages cascade down endless assembly lines,
Conveyor belts of half-truths and fragmented signals,
Relayed in code that twists and turns without end.
They pile up, incomplete, like puzzles scattered wide,
Missing corners, edges frayed and lost to the void—
What picture were they meant to form? A truce? A trap?Perhaps your intent was sly, a calculated detour,
To lure me into my own wandering tangents,
Where my thoughts spiral, lose their footing in the mist,
And my defenses crumble, misguided and astray.
You watch as I falter, hoping I'll stray from the path,
Entangled in vines of doubt you yourself have sown.Yet, no matter the chaos, I always emerge through this door,
Bruised but unbroken, stepping into the light—
But oh, the irony: I am deemed too gay, too white,
Too something-or-other to be worth the fight.
Dismissed as unworthy, a cause not noble enough,
Left to fend alone in battles you claim to abhor.For you, neutrality reigns supreme, a throne of inaction,
More vital than dismantling the myths that bind us all—
Ignorance woven into presumption's heavy cloak.
You stand aside, arms folded, as the storm rages on,
Preferring the safety of silence over the risk of upheaval,
Letting echoes of old prejudices linger in the air.You fail to embody the sermons you so eloquently preach,
Words of justice ringing hollow in the empty hall.
Hypocrisy cloaks you like a velvet robe,
Permitting persecution to thrive unchecked,
Dressed up in cleverly disguised subtitles—
Euphemisms that soften the blade but deepen the wound.In the absence of equivocal standards, fair and true,
I am forever framed in shadows of implied accountability.
Burdened with sins not my own, painted as the villain
In a narrative scripted by hands that never touch the page.
How long must I carry this weight, this unearned chain?
Until the assembly lines halt, and the puzzles find their peace.
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