Tale as Old as Time

glitterati

eschew the literati

chewing, as they do

the fat

that was siphoned off

(not their lips

stiff or upper)

and plumps

out the lines

that were drawn

pensive or cogitative

in the lottery.

you know the one –

your soul spins

purgatorily

drops

via stork or in vitro

into privilege

silver spoon mouthing

or abjectly

into poverty.

you are imbued

of a body

imperfect

conceivably ill-fitting,

incognizant of

your track-side

designation.

right side,

you are fed

constant limpid

liquid protein

self-congratulatory myths

self-made

populated with bootstraps

veni, vidi, vici.

wrong side,

you race

pell-mell

to stay one step ahead

of that crushing 8 ball.

you are the star pupil

in the school of hard knocks

and the research fellow

a font of lifelong

knowledge

steeped in data on the

ubiquity of inequity

Published by

Aurora Phoenix

I write as Aurora Phoenix. Nine months ago my world shattered. Unexpectedly and dramatically arrested, I have been incarcerated ever since, as I await the unbearably slow machinations of the system. Devoid of verbal communication that is unmonitored, pen and paper have served as my truest outlet for grief, fear and angst. Armed with toilet paper for intermittently copious tears, my motions experience and reflections are PaperMate poured. In this chapter of my life, I write.

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