You are Not a Saint

To you, I am novelty,

A ruthful sight to be seen

You stare at me with deep frowns and brows furrowed in pity

I, a caged animal,

Desperate to be set free

You speak my tongue,

but cannot understand me

I am the dirty

I am the poor

I am the epitome of the least, last, lost

I am the “bitter truth” of life,

Is all I am to you?

Your fleeting discomfort is my reality

Everything is momentary.

Everything is momentary,

There are few days of glee we cling onto each year,

Where you play with us,

Laugh with us, 

Learn about who we are and why we are,

Only to leave the next day

We are told to be grateful

We are told to accept

We are told we are being helped,

That this joy shall remain

The only lasting truth is your absence

My hope is fading.

My hope is fading,

I still try to trust you

It’s hard not to—

With your guilty eyes and heavy heart

But I am told to stop trusting

Not even when its set in stone, swore onto one’s heart, bound in blood and hollowly promised,

“I’m coming back for you”

Step down from your high horse.

Step down from your high horse,

Stop reaching below to me,

If now you know nothing, know this:

It is here I remain, while you return to your walls of comfort,

With an empty glimpse of what it’s like to be me

This system is your doing 

You do not do this for me.

You do not do this for me—

Quiet, your cries of sympathy,

Silence, your woes of sorrow,

Dull the light of pride in your eyes,

Remove the halo atop your head.

You are not a saint.

What are you looking for?