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Darren

Best Poem entry
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If This Poem Finds You Comfortless...
By Darren

We are marred by this, from this, with this,
We are shaped, emasculated, crushed by this
Being born to doctors who operate from rumors
Rather than fact.  To guardians who refuse to protect.

We are used by this, these instruments which find
Themselves bloodied and cold—we are mutilated by
This.
 
In this time when we praise a device for efficiency, and
Discard the best of his property as blight,
We are trapped in this.

We are made insane by what might not have been,
(Discovery finds him polarized and hard.)

We were on the production line.  Those yellowed halls
Of hospitals growing paler, contained therein are the
Assembly belts.  We are crafted by these; into
That which is less threatening, more sanitized,
Less human—more afraid.

We at last are made to cry: first at birth, and then at
Gnosis.  For ourselves, for others—
For the whole world, by this, for this; life with this.
When the poem finds us comfortless, stress; tension
Turns into Salvation.

By these straps, we are healed, by these weights we are
Made whole.  We carefully beat the instrument of shame
Into beautiful tools to restore.

And now, across my land and through the towns,
By millimeters then centimeters, there can be heard
One single gesture: one of pride, of ego, of rights, stumbling
Up from the dirt and filth of prior horror.

As the gash in our collective skin heals, and pulls itself
Together like the body, glorious, does.  We strap-up at night
With the knowledge, and a smirk of pleasure postulating
What we might accomplish.

 
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