# 337 (a choice not to)

That haunted face of yours,

it followed me back home.

How you hit your little brother

without even blinking. You said

“Don’t look!”, but I couldn’t unsee

the violence. “I learnt it from

my mother!” you said, leaving

me angry and pondering.

If violence was inherited, so might

be compassion. “Just hit me back,”

you told him “cause that’s what you

do best.” Those lines really tore

me apart. How to survive in a world,

where everybody is an enemy and

behind every kind smile, a fist is lurking,

every second you let your guard down?

You had to become the fist yourself,

always ready to strike, tension building

desperate muscles in a scrawny body.

A starving tigress, barely old enough

to fight,  yet nobody ever gave you

a choice not to.


© Matthias Geh, 20th June 2018

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