gravemen

You didn’t want to go to the party.

You weren’t just saying that, either.

You wanted to wrap your hair and

Take a bubble bath.

Maybe light some candles.

Put on your music.

Close your eyes

And just “be.”

 

 

But you didn’t have a choice. If you stayed

In your small bathroom, the space

That was yours, there would still

Be no room for you.

The party would (as it was prone to do)

Encroach on your space.

In your space you would be hyper visible

And invisible.

Questions would be tossed your way

But they wouldn’t be for you—

And besides, who asks a question

Without already having the answer anymore?

 

 

The party, you reason, could have been in

The Other Space. The Other Space isn’t called that, of course.

The Other Space simply is. It is the space that you occupy that is Other.

Still. It could have been there, in that space.

The one reserved for such

Events and such people—they who are

Not You.

Now that they decided parts of you are welcome

(But only if you are silent)

You have to come.

If you don’t you’re deplorable and you’re causing tension.

You are the reason the tension exists, if you don’t come.

You are making them uncomfortable, they can’t even

Align with you you make them so angry,

And how dare you not smile wider and thank them for inviting you?

It doesn’t matter that last week you weren’t welcome

And next week you’ll be called on to prove

Your humanity. They want you now, so you’ll come now.

 

 

So the party is at your place. It doesn’t look like

Your place. There’s furniture that you don’t recognize

And though you work hard you can’t afford what they’ve replaced your things with.

There’s food that you do recognize,

But when the party is here the food gets a different name

And a higher price.

You want your space.

They suggest that it’s wrong to call any place yours,

That you are creating tension.

They say this through the glass; you were invited, but you are

In another room. The room you are in is cold

And damp

And stuffed with a thousand other people who are

Nothing like you

And yet, you are all alike.

 

 

You are called upon en masse.

There is only room for one, the hosts say apologetically,

Except they aren’t sorry.

In fact, they wonder why there must be more than one of you there.

Why can’t you just enjoy watching the party?

They wonder.

Why don’t you have your own party?

They ask.

You point out that you did have your own party.

And you stocked your house with your own things.

And you made your own beauty.

And they came, uninvited.

They moved you from your place and blamed you.

They took your things—those they thought they could use—

And because they no longer belonged to you, they had value.

They renamed what made you beautiful

And they flaunted their new pieces for the world to see

And they made certain that you knew

What is ugly on you is made beautiful by them.

 

 

You aren’t allowed to want. You cannot feel.

You have to be in this space. Your shoulders are necessary

For them to climb on, you are useful

For when a soul needs trodding.

You are the bar below which

They cannot fall.

You move from their space—the space that used to belong to you—

And you breathe, but only for a little while.

They argue amongst themselves right now, but you understand

Their favorite argument is you.

Speaking for you and over you, but never to you.

Never with you, or after you, never silent enough

For you to speak for yourself.

The conditions of their hatred of each other always seem to be met

On the battlefield of you.

You wonder idly if there is a place or time that you might go

To find peace.

They are angry with you for suggesting this.

They reminisce about better times.

They would like for you to know that your place is nowhere

With nothing

And that you are no one.

And that this party that they keep throwing around you

Is meant to bind you

And eventually destroy you.

You lower your eyes and speak softly

And they cover your mouth

And muffle your words

And they smother you

And watch the life flee from you

And they never consider your life at all

For they are human

And you are other

And there is no place for you

Save for the grave that they have built.