By Aarohi Rao
like a snow angel, i exist only in negation.
negative space creates me. i am on my knees.
begging.
you raise a sword, to knight me. or perhaps to strike me.
i never did see the difference—in both, i give my life to you,
as something for you to own.
in both, the look on your face controls my thoughts.
you told me that art comes from the soul.
it’s a necessary condition of an artist.
not something they force, but something that forces them.
nothing forces me. all i do is wait for something to change.
i grieve for something that will never happen, and then for something that will.
was i not cut from the cloth of the gods.
when will i be good enough.
judas asked the same question to jesus.
“why did you not make me good enough that you could love me.”
(he loved him, anyway.)
without god. without angels.
who pays attention to humanity?
will they hear our screams?
our cries for help?
our sorrow?
at least, the good times.
at least, one laugh.
By Aarohi Rao
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