The place we were reared in was a safe place
but we spoke hard words. We ached for war.
As for me: I was baser than that—I claimed a cause.
A teen brushing their mouth
of consensus, awe and doubt.
We place demands in our prayers
as if we place ourselves in G-d’s path.
Off rhyme of my joy and FML.
An off rhyme—that’s all.
Our rubbish mounts within a big frame
we colour key to pride and shame.
We fasten to the architecture
like a file that’s been saved.
We’re sure that we’re saved.
Our heaven may be a small heaven
but come now—the gate’s ajar.
In time you forget you’re faking it.
Resign. Be calm.