linda m. crate

get off my back

sometimes reality bites,

there's too much talent trapped

behind poverty;

 

i wonder what art, music,

and books lay undiscovered and

forgotten that could be

my favorite if only they got

the light of day—

 

i wonder how different our lives

could be if everyone were

given enough to survive,

 

and we could actually be

compensated fairly for our time;

 

because i was not born

to be told to make the most

of the dash while my back is

being stepped on and forced

into the dirt by people who

don't care if i get a chance to live—

 

i want to do more than just exist.

 

 

 

maybe some do

when i was little,

i was very shy;

 

people would always

say,

"i don't bite."

 

perhaps not with teeth,

but perhaps with words or deeds—

 

it was very hard for me

to feel safe in the

company of the unknown,

 

sometimes i still feel

that way;

 

people are good about

hiding their true intentions

sometimes—

 

they say people change,

maybe some do;

 

in my experience they just

get better at hiding the ugly parts

of themselves and they'll still strike

at you like a cobra—

 

i've never been betrayed

by an enemy.

 

 

maybe i'm safe from dracula

i didn't want him to

bite me,

 

i don't think ancient

powerful vampires

care about consent, though;

 

dracula certainly didn't

not in this

dream—

 

when i woke up

it all still felt real,

and i felt so cold;

thirteen years old on friday

october the thirteenth,

 

this just seemed like

an ill omen—

 

but i have yet to meet

dracula,

so perhaps he has others

to bite;

 

maybe i'm safe.