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A brief reflection on my own weariness in the current political climate.

When the body and mind cry for rest

When the heart cries to just exist

When all hope seems fruitless

I must find strength.

Idleness will not slay dragons.

Nor will fear.

Yet how can I help but to fear

When the dragons are all around me?

How many, I wonder,

How many hide their forked tongues

When they speak to me so pleasantly?

How many knives would plunge into my flesh,

If they only knew who I truly was?

If I shed this skin that confines me?

It is not safe to live as I live.

I can trust no one.

That is why my head is down.

Not out of ignorance.

Not out of reverence.

But in order to save myself.

I treasure the existence I have been given.

Martyrdom is a fine thing for those who live after.

Not so much for the martyr themselves.