My great grandfather was a literal
Gas lighter in one of his many jobs when he
Moved to America from a country that
Wanted him to a country that wanted
Only part of him. I wonder at how I could have
Snuffed out those flames and brought
Darkness upon each street in Queens
With a rage all my own. I laugh and sob at
My own expertise in gaslighting
Thinking that the phrase “don’t worry,
It’s taken care of” translates so well into
Every language where every woman has
Said that it’s not okay and I am worried.
I am a combustable fuel
Lit in fear and running out rapidly.
What does it mean to feel normal
Possibly enlightened at any point in the day?
I draw the windows closed
When there is no light in here and in the
Shadows I reflect on a country that
Only wants a part of me as well.
A world that only wants a part of me
As well and the ways in which
We choose to catch fire.

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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