I Pity the Garbage

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When the going get’s tough,
The tough throw out.
The garbage takes all of our hits.
The angry huff,
that fed-up pace,
I know when it’s coming.
I see the pail;
I see the closed fist around unsuspecting objects.
I want to cry.
I want to curl up in a ball,
rock back and forth in a corner,
hands pressed tight over my ears,
eyelids wrenched shut.
See no evil.
See no evil.
Why do we do this?
Why can’t we just get mad?
I don’t want to throw my life away
every time the world bites back.
I’m different.
I pity the garbage.





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Marisa S. said...
Mar. 2, 2012 at 8:15 am

beautiful!

 

 
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