Rights to Rebirth
Hearts whose monitors
level to a universal line
will not rise enough
to peek through a clearing
barred by someone else’s
So today, I will die,
in a place where a seed is planted in the forest,
and no one is around to see it grow,
until its reflection towers
through glassy-eyed people
I’ve lived inside all of you.
Was it really so classy to spit me back out,
or have you never learned the art
of acquired taste?
Your so called “respectfulness”
rolls through my throat like sandpaper.
What does an apology mean
when words are only a myth?
Because my God never assigned order
to the freedom of being re-birthed.
He only smiled
and tipped his hat.
by Amanda Paul