living with war in poetry

few things put me more at war
with the divided forces within my nature
than when I find myself attracted to a woman
who also happens to be a cop
on the one hand a person
whose authority flows
from having a murder button strapped to their ass
on the other hand
that ass and
how my other hand wants to touch that ass
this culture of violence and silence
this culture of body armour and
this history of the local corrupt warlord
then king then whatever the next title
having armed peasants who make their pay
putting down the other peasants who’d
try to assert their rights over illegitimate power
but then starry eyes
but then bright smile
but then the curve of the hip
but then but then but then
but then I am torn
I’d never be a class traitor for money
I’d never be a class traitor for fame
but when it comes to a beautiful woman
I’m a hypocrite like anyone else
my ethics fungible the same
I’m living with war in my heart
I’m living with war in my heart and my mind
I was raised with a distrust of authority
yet my love of beauty manifests deplorably
when the storm trooper saunters in adorably