You are wrong about me.
Taking my measure with quick glances.
Pretending you own my story and telling it
With short, ugly words.
The light in my eyes
A stranger to your own, because you
Can’t seem to look long enough to
Recognize yourself- or anybody else, there.
But you know me- even though
You pretend to be completely
Alienated by the audacity
Of my words- which,
Upon second glance
Are held quietly in place
By the light in my eyes
And the spark in my soul
That refuse to bend to
The ugliness you profess to be beautiful.
And you wail at the injustice
and the abomination
and the economy.
And I mourn the loss of your sight-
That I am wrong about you, too.
~D Gregory Smith