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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Personal · #2102642
A really long metaphor about how judgemental I am towards myself.
The judge sits at the head, falcon-eyed
Her gavel could fall, with finality,
At any second, and I know I cannot win
My head will be in the basket, in the end
Because the war is not between me and the opponent
It is between me and the judge
And her guillotine gavel
There is nothing to win
There is everything to lose
Her watchful eyes
Are the holes I put my hands in
I hunch over, bend to her law
The jury watches on, they do not understand my battle
They let slip several secrets
Condemning me to her grave
The battle is heated, the opponent wounded and close to tears
I like the opponent
But I must fight fiercely, must have the perfect argument
Or the guillotine will bang around the room
And my wrists will scar themselves
Sometimes it is hard to distinguish her from the jury, she hides well
She stand there and tells me her judgement with her eyes
The opponent does not understand how brutal I am
They don’t know that if I slip up
Feel anything
Have one weakness
I am that much closer to lead weights
And a river
A stream of bubbles up, up, up
Me, down, down, down
So they stare wide eyed as I tell the judge my defense
And the jury has no idea what to make of it
And my lawyer, dressed in blue,
Tells me to rebel
To give up, to stop
“Look, they’re already begging”
She says
And I turn back to the judge, blood more iron than anything
Cold with fear,
But guilt stares at me with the opponent’s eyes
And I let them go
But I never leave the courtroom
I am never not fighting
For another second with my head
My lawyer begs me to give up more often than not
Fighting the judge
Leaves long scars across my friend’s memories
And mine
So I still my fist
And stand my ground
Preparing my next argument
Steeling it making it airtight
Because my heart likes it’s heart beat
And my lungs like air
But my lawyer is right
I can’t win like this
I just need to learn
To put down the gavel
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