the polemic

a natural attraction to
dissension
is it that proof by
falsification is my
guiding mantra?

is it that my moral
guidance towards
sympathy for the outcasts
lends itself to protecting
space for ideas,
even that are controversial?

is it that identity
is easier to find by
isolating out the things
that I am not?

I’d rather think I’m better than
a sum of all my political buttons.

hell, it’s me critiquing the anti-war
protester gatherings
twice this week.

just as it’s me revolting at the notion
of being in that simplest of upper-class
social gatherings.

and it’s me wondering how I make it all work
when the days turn into nights
turn into sunrises turn into sunsets
and the churning and the pressure and
the need to do it all consumes.

the invalid find comfort in my space.
and I find internal warmth providing it.

I just wish there wasn’t that guilt
of feeling like I’m doing it
for any other reason than to be.