December 30, 2010
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You say I wear this wristband out of honor
An ancient shade of reverence
Carrying the torch, you say
But there’s no honor in adornment, no
We adorn ourselves as a symbol of our mourning
Black because we are too afraid to live
Yet clothed because we are too afraid to die

You say her husband died two days ago
Stage four liver cancer
Diagnosed two weeks past, you say
The world instantly begs for a refund
On its purchase of criticism
And we sit around and discuss how terrible it is
How sorry we are
But sorrys are worth less than pennies
And pennies are what people always trod over on the floor
So what exactly do people do with sorrys? I wonder
Do they trod over them twice?
Or are they just not even worth being stepped on?

You know, I briefly considered giving her my wristband
But I don’t think I’m ready to shed my adornment just yet

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