I was six when I first filed for moral bankruptcy
I was ten when they told me language is inherently classist.
At thirteen, I started defining kindness
as “making nice to those who like your favorite teams.”
At twenty, I hired a ghost to write my LinkedIn profile.
At thirty, I started radiosuctive parole therapy.
At forty-one, I began to look sideways and call it inward.
At eighty-six, I’m a work in progress.
Today, at 120, I’m a proud piece of gum,
who’s almost forgotten the countless nights it took me,
locked in the shoe of the human mind,
to get here to tell you: don’t let others humanize you.
Don’t let them take away your objectivity
no matter how much they brutalize you.