I don’t have any words left. I’m going to let some other smart people take it from here.
“If abandoned rage asks, Who should answer for this?/
Say, the very blood of our lives eats composure up.”
~ Claudia Rankine,
“What would you like? I’d like my money’s worth.
Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—
swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood
on the first four knuckles.
We pull our boots on with both hands
but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do
is stand on the curb and say Sorry
about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.“