“We’ve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.”- Barack Obama

I am worried for you
in a way I can no longer afford
to worry for myself—
knowing the limits of my own
hopefulness
the ways I can
pick myself up,

the ways I cannot.
The disappointment of not
getting up again, as high,
of witnessing
change.

You have the dictionary
seeing still (the unknown, be still)
what seems impossible.

Wastefully you wage it
on worthlessness
(those barely tremors
of sometimes laughter)
wealthy you are
with not knowing
the worth of self.

If only I knew how
to balance beam
this axis for you.

If I knew
to teach you fear,
or let you become afraid?

Circuitous logic paves roundabouts
to follow, arriving one after the other
(in rapid succession).

Will your future be merely a tautology?
Or am I to undo logic?
And who am I (?) to undo you
as if future were something
I once knew?

There are always exits.