It’s Not All

Hey, you. You who still remember.

The nice, balmy evening. The friend who wanted a drink. The quick stop at the gas station. The harsh, angry voice, snarling at you to get out, they don’t serve niggers.

It’s not all whites.

The shards hitting the floor when the window shattered. Intrusion, violation, your home no longer a safe place, so much harder to take than the material loss.

It’s not all blacks.

The strobe lights flashing. The bass drumming. The blast. The sudden silence. The screams and moans. The blood. The scattered body parts.

It’s not all Muslims.

The tiny tadpole on the ultrasound image. Hope. Bliss. Love. The doctor stating your life was at risk. The decision. The emptiness. Your heart breaking, and breaking further with every scream outside the clinic, murderess, should have kept your legs together.

It’s not all Christians.

The darkness. The footsteps behind you. The pounding of your heart. The breath in your ear. The knife against your throat. His hands ripping at your clothes. The powerlessness. The fear. The pain. The shame.

It’s not all men.

The quiet in the apartment, emptied out in haste while you were at work. She’s gone, you don’t know why, you don’t know where. She’s taken the kids. Your soul is bleeding.

It’s not all women.

adult-1867428_1280It’s never all.

It’s always just a few.

Don’t let them win.

 

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About angelikarust

My name is Angelika Rust. I was born in Vienna in 1977. These days, I live in Germany, with my husband, two children, a despotic couple of cats and a hyperactive dog. After having tried almost every possible job from pizza delivery girl to HR consultant, I now make a living knowing English. No, I haven’t yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up, whenever that may be. In the meantime, I write the occasional book.
This entry was posted in Poems that won't change the world and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to It’s Not All

  1. Pingback: Hi, I’m me. | 6twistedbiscuits

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