this consequence

this consequence ~ 

so easily wrought

by your facile savagery ~

finds its mark. 

this consequence ~

so cunningly built 

by your trenchant indolence ~

finds its mark. 

this consequence ~

so carelessly made

by your reckless indifference ~

finds its mark. 

I’m fine, thanks. How are you?

trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma    

Déjà vu

I had planned to begin writing here, again. It was to be an embodied expression of my hope, in a new year filled with all kinds of optimism and healing. 

Instead, it seems there is a particular kind of walloping in motion, enacted already, that has circled back and is striking repeatedly with a vicious and long-lasting venom. Exploitation is not too harsh a word for these toxic coils circling my daily existence, and it has again departed the furthest bounds of acceptability. 

The trauma here is manifold: not just the indignity of unmet need, but the callous absence of care that permits it once, let alone repeatedly. I curse you, empty-mouthed promiser of care. I see your absence, eloquent in its lack of diligent reassurance. Your complicit failure is the cruellest sting.