merci, marci (mercy)

him him him him
twinge twinge twinge twinge.

"none of these men look happy."

him himself he his his self.

i'm in the middle
of a reprogramming
that is unspoken.
taking into account
consciousness,
the conscience
of mislabeling,
and conscious effort.

trinidad of melting
the conditioning
until it trickles
down my forehead
and swallowing
the twinge
of misguided
pathways.

religion,
expectations
and race.

we are byproducts
crafted in the synthesis
of controls and fears
in the name of god
and science.

simultaneous paradox
with both at the throat
of the other,
we carve out the larynx
and claim they're
unable to speak.

"none of these men look happy."

because to have your feet
on such a slippery slope
makes humanity grimace.

it is a natural human response
to something that strikes
fear in the hearts of many.
to change something
that is rarely even challenged.

and unlike animals,
they cannot scale
these walls
and they fall
just as we would:
so how can you expect
them to be happy?

it's recovery, discovery
and alienation
of delineations;
it's still a process
and i cannot judge
another person's truths
in their steps.

"none of these men look happy."

because transitioning
is like walking on lily pads
and you must be careful
with your truths.

and to deny the truths
of a person
is to dismiss 
their very existence,
yet claim they're the reason
for their drowning.