If you held a gun to my head and asked me to explain half of the shit I said-
He tried that once- junior year, in the kitchen.
I saw my reflection in the glass door of the patio and thought,
"If this is what privilege feels like..."
And I said, "Do it. I dare you."
Ok, I didn't say that. I said,
"If you aren't planning on using that in the next thirty seconds..."
And my heart was on fire with the need for it, for the escape
From the middle-class prison that had condemned me
To live and die in the kitchen of a man who owned me,
And the fallout and I knew I wouldn't be around
For all the I-told-you-so's,
But I knew that I wouldn't need to be.
"...then I suggest you put it down."
Didn't bother adding, "Don't get my hopes up."
I've always been a master of dark comedy
and haven't always been a master of knowing when it's appropriate to use.
But this time, for once, I got it right and kept quiet.
I should get an award for my ability to keep quiet, really,
I feel like I deserve something in exchange for this.
Something besides the negativity, I mean.
And that's exactly what I was afraid of.
I knew that even if I managed to get away, my life would never be the same
And if the truth ever got out
Those that I had loved would never look at me the same.
Years later I come to realize that those that I'd loved
blamed me for what had transpired.
I think of the evil that forced its way inside of me.
I think of the pain I inflicted on myself to keep going through the fire.
I think of the helplessness of looking out for hands to grab on to
And seeing nothing but miles of emptiness where love was supposed to lie.
I see all this,transparent as glass,
Illuminated clear as day by the present,
And I think back to that fateful night,
When my desire and a few millimeters on the trigger
could have carried me further than the dreams,
Whose backs I had used to try and ride out the storm.
When I lied there thinking,
"If this is what privilege feels like...
I'd be better off dead."