"you never answer a lie with dishonesty,"
my mother used to say.
"you rise above it. you need to be better."
"you never face violence with more violence,"
my father tried to teach me.
"you rise above it. you need to be the bigger person."
"you never respond to being mistreated by being mean,"
my lover once told me.
"you rise above it. you need to be kinder."
"to fight fire with fire is to beg for arson,"
i told myself, once.
"you rise above it. you need balance. you need control."
oh, God.
none of them saw it, for how it truly was.
neither did i.
none of them saw me for who i truly was.
not even myself.
i can't rise above it.
look how deep i've fallen.
i couldn't rise above nine circles of black earth and six feet of contempt,
even if i had the self-love it takes to try.
i'm trapped far below it.
i can't give myself the hope.
look how far i've fallen.
i couldn't dig a better person out of all this mud and hatred and fear,
even if i had the courage it takes to try.
i'm trapped far below it.
