i struggle with hope.
not a lack of it, but an abiding
rage underneath all of my eyes.
never call me at-risk anything.
healing isn’t shaped as a book.
what I’ve been working on,
for years now, is having
a balance between both,
the rawness that comes from
being brutally fucked with.
even at this place, on the edge
of a bridge staring at thick water,
hope gets repackaged as marketing,
as marketing itself. this is not
what i’m talking about here.
some people use genuine hope
as an alternative to despair.
that is not what i am
talking about, either.