Who

The morning grew clear toward mid-day,
no clouds, just a west wind
to stir your memory.

How you thought truth was in you,
how you swore allegiance to companionship,
how you lived in the night
and passed judgment on the light,

a light you rejected, a payback,
a settling, a comeuppance,

how you failed to notice , even then,
that you hadn’t the status to be rejected,
how you slowly saw, slowly, grudgingly,
that rejection was neither of you nor for you,
and how little it mattered.

Later, you try to start over,
still wearing the skin you were born in,
all those scars the only evidence.

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