how do you make the world good?
she asked rhetorically, with a hint of cynicism
after all, she had seen her fair share of badness
death and decaying hope
overwhelming sorrow drenched her sheets
until she rung them out with her frail hands
squeezing droplets
cementing in her consciousness
never to let the world drop her flat on her back again
this time, I’ll fight back
she promised herself and the world around her
including those she loved
until they became her enemy just like the rest
hurt for hurt became
hate for hate
intimidation for intimidation became
kill or be killed
fear folded over into fear
until it covered and suffocated and blocked out all the light
How do I make myself good?
the question barely reached her for the force
she spent pushing it aside
violently destroying herself inside
battered and numbed over
forgetting the soft, rounded edges of hope
not daring to let it show
for the pain it ensued
then a voice, a face, taking the shape of a child
spoken in some other tongue
some language spoken gently to her former self
before she left civilian life to fight
vaguely making out a few words
she heard whispers of long-ago victory
of something resembling peace,
no– defining it
maybe even love
yes, definitely love
as she grasped those words with a strength from outside of her
she consumed them, starving
it was that or death, she decided
then slowly, slowly
those words began to become her reality
how do you make the world good?
believe that beneath all of this,
it is.
