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Inferior already.
To the miniature interrogation happening.
The small brown podium directly to the front.
The defender puts away his conscience
inside an equally mud brown suit.
“You took the risk!”
A tiny hand atop a sea of tiny faces,
lazily sways without direction.
Assuming of you,
indistinguishable to all
awaiting the cast out.
Missing features from the
face of the witness.
Gray pencil marks
scribbled across
the ones that really matter.
The one true love
crippled in the tea leaves.
He sees no real validity
in what paralyzes you, the prosecution.
“She entered his car willingly!”
You smash the toy pieces aside,
no one is allowed to put grief on a pedestal,
especially the likes of you.
So you resume
your day in sheer sparkle denial.
A pretend bubble where
thoughtless invincibility
is meant for you and you only.
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