The Wall

Cat’s cradle of betrayal, hazel yarn,
proved fatal to my understanding of
self-harm,

her cards laid across the table when
mine had already bought the farm.

Jokers to her Queens,
single spade standing
sentry to her
army of aces and clubs,
because you can’t fight
for us if you are not of
certain shape.

At that point,
I pointed
my fist upwards,
a guttersnipe of ones.

Love trumps hate in
every idiom you can muster,
any block you could think of
burying us
under
for
I am just a number
but add us up
and your walls might as well
guard the guards,

because in
the hundreds of
thousands, we climb
over kings.

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5 thoughts on “The Wall

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