Brooke Forbes

Your identity politics isn’t poetry – 

He yelled

Across the room in a wave of angst so great it cut through thin air itself.

Your hair doesn’t even look good red – 

He added

In what could be deemed a fair analysis of externalising mental illness. 

Your music is repetitive and your clothes too corporate –

He added, again, almost in the same breath.

Dude, I said – 

What’s. With. The. Negging.

The unfiltered word dumps

The unwanted vitriol

The smattering of negativity 

Across my space and into my equilibrium. 

What’s with the out of context statements 

The out of the gate remarks

The out of this world analogies. 

And why

Do I 

Care

So much

When I have fulfilling hobbies like writing and politics. 

Why do I care when words light up my angst like fireballs through a night sky.  

Why do I care so much when I know my politics are here for the constant learnings, that the phrase cultural humility is not yet overused to define the way of being I’m edging towards. 

Well, I think, at least the burning keeps me present: 

And it’s not like it feels any better

To be 

Instead

Ignored and 

Forgotten.