The violence of another man never bothered me-
Though it’s true
That I’ve yet to be pricked by the vulagrity of bigotry
By bearers of hate.
So it’s with disbelief-
A sense of remorse
That I succumb to unseen wounds that crept up in my sleep
The vulnerability of knowing that my thoughts aren’t guarded anymore.
And though my impressions are under the rug-
They bellow and scowl,
They’re breathing and scheming
Aching to be let out.