AR Mannylee Rushet is a sappy, depressed, butch bitch who is probably not y'alls "problematic" fav.
I feel it in my throat
the way you ignore me.
If only I could separate my head from my body
the way that you can.
Talk about your elbow
as though it is easy to separate your elbow from your shoulder.
My emotion feels unexplained and like a sucker punch to you,
tearing through the sky sheets of your white world.
Within reason only because you don’t understand the equation
This misunderstanding feels like blood has
slipped through my fingers.
I can’t bring to tune the song of violence, its melody.
I don’t know how to discuss what violence is with you.
So slanted are the hills you’ve been playing on for so long,
I’d probably just fall down and scrape my knees.
And my knees have been scraped again and again;
at this point I don’t really care who cut them.
Or for the lily tenderness of professed innocence.
All I know is that they stood by and without the music of their box,
watched me bleed and then professed themselves innocent.
To look at the innocence of a person and think
that their pieces are all the same
is to have given them broken pieces
ones that you know they can’t possibly defend with.
So even when valiant, their weapon might as well be invisible.
It is you who gave them the thing they must somberly wield:
the mirage of their blows against the wind,
hoping just to prick your vile, thick skin.