i’ve used that title once before

portrayed my anger as a result of being raped

for those that had been (i told myself)

as i hadn’t

though now have

but that’s not even where i thought i was going with this

this began in a more literal place

because of where we all are now

at the mercy of these microscopic parasites

just trapped and waiting

like that girl in my poem

sitting in that dirty cell

not wanting to hold herself accountable

angry, vulnerable, awash in the stench of mistakes repeated

held in place like a bug on a pin

dreadful isn’t it

how we find ourselves in these same places

these playgrounds and petri dishes

living out the vicissitudes of our nurturing and our natures

looking for whom to blame

when really, it is an inevitability, isn’t it

ruin

(but, also, renewal)