Who Am I Not?

They asked me:

“Who am I to have such a voice?

To have such gumption?

To proudly pump my heart to the beat of my own drum?”

To say I’m a survivor doesn’t give me the sense of justice,

But to say I am a winner would be lying all the same.

Winning indicates loss of something precious

And you can’t win at a game that is within.

In reality, I’m no winner, I’m no loser

I’m also no boxed-in human being

I may not know much about how the world works

But at least I’m willing to be seen

This echoing voice shatters walls & bridges built

To keep the tattered bullshit sticking and your life in a perpetual maze.

“Who am I?” They ask with envy, hunger, desperation eagerly awaiting

Corners of their mouths turned upwards, salivating.

As though living off of others’ courage is enough

As though there words were formed to be engulfed

And spit out, with the same numbness that gives gluttony a righteous name.

“Who am I?” they question, eyes glazed over,

Who Am I Not?

Is all I’ll ever say.