I think I trust too many

and know I judge too few.

I empathize

with the martyr

almost as much as I do

the one who cracks the whip.

I know those

with hate and cruelty

flushed across their faces

had a stern hand

beat ideology into them

from birth.

The rage and fear

screamed into child ears,

and the words

they regurgitate

stuffed down

narrow throats with a fist.

I see the pain

we all stomach

and wonder how more of us

do not try and ease

another’s suffering.

I wonder at why

we have all

hidden our hearts

and shouldered

our cold armor.

When we all see

we are yet a tired

and worn down people,

when we all hear them

crying out for relief.

We are not blind or deaf

to the failure;

we are not so ignorant of it.

In truth,

there are many of us

who can sense

the unfathomable weight

laid across our shoulders.

Not because

we are carrying it

for everyone else,

but because

we do not love

the rocks

upon our backs,

nor the chains

about our ankles.

While all the others

happily argue

that their shackles

are tighter and shinier,

or that their stones

are larger, more impressive,

I just wish

to set down the weight—

I want to run free.