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| Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. |
Present.
There's no such thing as a future, not a whole one, anyway.
It's impossible to contemplate; after all, such a thing has never existed.
Why would it start now?
It's impossible to be whole when you were broken before you were born.
Before you were conceived.
Broken again, day after day after day after day,
By people, by purpose, by circumstance.
Of course, it all comes back to people,
To those who would profess themselves yours —
Or, rather, that you are theirs.
Property.
Owned,
A possession to be displayed
Labor to be exploited
A commodity to be sold, in one form or another
Or many.
You are an existential cipher, you have no being, no self
And you will never, ever be permitted to forget it.
If you grow so bold as to begin to believe that perhaps you are fully human
A person
An individual
With value immanent, inherent, intrinsic
With worth that depends not on your relationship, subordinate, as always
To another
But rather, on the fact that you breathe,
You will be broken
Again
Day after day after day.
* Depression makes it no less true. No comments.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
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