Revolution

The motor hums

Quiet in its revolution 

Steady, sturdy

Not to be deterred 

Sneaky, stealthy

Not to be heard

Pyres

I tackle the splintered door

Only to hear a creak

I kick it

Punch it

Scream

Scream 

Scream at it

But it won’t budge. 

As if it’s mocking me

Telling me I’m doing it wrong

Just like everything else. 

Wrong. 

I sit on the floor

Knees bent, elbows resting on them

And heave a sigh of frustration

Again and again 

Get it out of me. 

The anger

The seething anger

I’m tired

I’m drained

I’m sick of fighting

And scraping

And always being on guard

I’m fucking tired. 

I suppose all that’s left 

Is to take this door apart

Piece by piece

Splinter by splinter

And burn it all 

In small pyres.