its hard to stay soft and human in a world of hatred

there is a pit in my soul telling me

that i cannot fix anything i worry about.

i desire something

so violently,

but i wont act.

kindness isn't removing your teeth,

its choosing not to bite.

too, i will not accept plastic love.

it is pleasure from dystopia.

so i huck back the cry in my throat,

where the rotting anxious anger from the inside

screams for freedom.

at a glance,

we are whole.

but the heartwood is rotten.