what we leave behind in poetry

the ability to pause and consider your sadness
to lie back and sink into the depths of your ennui
that in and of itself
is a kind of privilege many don’t have

some people don’t even get that
some people can’t
they’re too busy raising children
they’re too busy shooting from foxholes
some people grew up
too dirt sucking poor to even
know what an ennui is or could be
some people are in too much pain
to even think about the
pain that they’re in
they’re too exhausted to even consider
that there’s something else to be
than exhausted all of the time
life is too short and brutish
hideous and vicious to even put word
to how short and brutish
hideous and vicious it can be
for some the suffering is so common
that they can’t even see that
there’s something other than
suffering to have or own or be
but for whatever struggles and horrors
you have to face from day to day

and I’m certain they are many for you
just being alive is harder than
most people could ever profit from admitting

whatever struggles and horrors
you have to muddle through by day
you have to wrestle with at night
if you have time for these words
you have the time to think about it
at least a little time to reflect
while some people do not
I’ve had more luxury than all the kings in history
even when I was working crap jobs
or alone and lost in my own hometown again
which lent itself to time
to consider my own pain regardless of
the million shining lights of my advantage

the ability to pause and consider your sadness
to lie back and sink into the depths of your ennui
that in and of itself
is a kind of privilege many don’t have

none of this is to make you feel guilty
none of this is to beat you with whips of shame
or even to self-flagellate myself for
the breaks I’ve gotten or
the hurt I’ve taken on despite the breaks
this is just to say
you have the privilege of time to think
you have the privilege of collecting your thoughts
to brew and brood and
because of that
you have the obligation
to see the truth and speak the truth
of those who are suffering so much
they can’t even think about it
they can’t even stop to breathe
you have to be their voice
it is the price of getting to wallow
to ruminate upon digest your life
you have to speak for those
who are too tired to even speak
this is your charge
this is your commission
to speak for those who
in a sea of troubles
don’t even get to form
their thoughts about the pain

your time is the time you get
to gather your observations and
help those who don’t have the time
to scout for wisdom in the darkness
it is your bailiwick to speak
if you have the time to do it

I am hurting a good portion of the time
I am a very very lucky man
these things are both true at once
these are not terms of contradiction
things are only ever that clean
in propaganda and in fiction
we get to be both
we have to be both
it is our job to climb up and speak
because we got a little extra rope

the ability to pause and consider your sadness
to lie back and sink into the depths of your ennui
that in and of itself
is a kind of privilege many don’t have
that little bit of reprieve
that little space you get to breathe
earn it