poem: their sputtering ire

Their sputtering ire
means nothing to me.
It flowed right over
and dissolved
into the ground.

Shit has always been
good fertilizer.

For the first time
i can clearly see
the blessing
expressed
by their outrage.

If i had surrendered
my needs
and my reality
to their whim,
contorting myself
into strange shapes
to placate them,
there would be no wrath
raining down
on my head.

But, i did not
sublimate my soul
to their insults.

i pushed back.

i severed ties.

i moved on.

i grew stronger
using the crap
they threw at me
as fuel
for my fire.

Climbing up on the smoke,
i started to reach the sky.

31 october 2015

Leave a Reply