miss-tolerance

i cried on the telephone today. i reacted to a man with ignorant tones while basked in my solitude with the freedom to feel. but a man called and plagued my space with a forced magnitude. and i cried. believing in the moment and realizing his words.

because the weight of the world has been forced on them. while the weight of their fists have been forced on us. and the sickness in greed paints the white streaks in their hair while the sickness in them scares us black. and everywhere i turn, the glass of our slippers cracks on the cobblestones paved by the hands of their indifference.
Slight needles strewn forced and still — expectant children, plights weighed down with the grout of their homes. snapping the breaks true. a yellow and brittle song.

So i cried. And somewhere else a man apologized, unknowing of the permissible weight, transformed.

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