February 1, 2008
By Justin Iverson, La Crosse, WI

Day by day, we tread the ground beneath us
with straight-jackets fastened so tight we can
barely breathe. We are dysfunctional and we
show it by shutting others out. Acceptance is
seemingly so difficult. My sickness is your
piercing glare.

Words pierce skin like arrows and shatter bone.
Eyes shedding tears are soft echoes in the dark.
We hunt each other like its open season year round.
Words kill us but inside we still live to bottle our hate.
Nervous and insecure, we show no signals of distress.

Days wait for us like angry mobs.
We trot through them like run down work horses.
Our shells collapse--we are frozen by exclusion.
Piece by piece we crumble into piles of dust.
The weak of mind don’t fight back but are silent.
The unpopular become the Jews of Auschwitz.

Priests would line up for miles to save you.
Your existence is like a plague.
An exorcism would do you no good.
Your filth falls from your skin with every step.
I’ll walk around it without giving you any satisfaction.

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