I.O.U. - Autumn Wilding

Bead by bead,

Row by row,

Painstakingly designed,

To be tossed and thrown.

 

History class taught a narrow path,

One of false love stories and bloodbaths,

Not knowing who was on the other end of our right jab,

Surely made it easier to reduce your importance to a penny sized grave slab.

 

A thin layer of neon-luminous identity projects,

As the name brand of the object clearly sets,

The tone of voices that never bothered to question if the other was scared too.

And although a portion of us bow our head in shame,

Many continue to emotionally maim and endlessly draw pain.

 

Your majority has vanished,

Lands cut down to miniscule amounts,

From a free ranging life your ranks were banished.

How boundless you seemed when by restraints your ankles were not bound to a mere square foot of ground.

 

All I can do or say is an excerpt from electronic information,

Or brief moments between learning communicative properties of multiplication,

My response to your cry can only ever be a respectful formulation

From the things I was and will be taught of you.

Written from “I PUT A SPELL ON YOU”

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