people are not bath water
you do not have the privilege to be immersed in them,
wash the filth from your flesh and leave them when you have turned them cold
hand out short-ended sticks and expect thank you cards just for showing up
showing up and actually being there are two different destinations
your legacy is a kingdom of dirty bathtubs and skeletons with the gristle and parcels of meat still attached
how much dynamite have you velcroed to your palms?
ran your hands over shea butter flesh just to detonate innocence into accusation
how does it feel?
to have made oceans out of mountains, memories out of Lovers
people are not occasional sunsets,
only available when you decide their beauty is worth admiring
how does it feel to dress yourself in suicide vests and arming your tongue with silver?
people are not your bath water,
they are not the towel to dry you of your sin