I’m not who you think I am. Days of lush lazy lawns pregnant with carefree laughing children are long gone. I’m your daughter’s daughter. The new messiah. The coroner. The next coming. I’m walking on the backs of discarded plastic bottles, across seas, in search of salvation and clean drinking water. I’m sifting through un-majestic purple mountains of trash, for the tainted treasure of tasteless scraps to fill my aching empty guts. I’m roaming radiated deserts for evidence of my inheritance. I’m your judge your jury your coroner stuffing the giant cracks you left in the scorched earth with the putrid, swollen bodies of my kin. I’m your daughter’s daughter needing to grow new lungs to filter the filthy air new hands to claw over continents of blackened concrete. I’m the one left after the last holocaust. The one you didn’t want to notice, too busy entertaining yourselves for one third of your lives. I’m not who you think I am. I’m the minister the preacher the teacher. My hopes and prayers like wolves sent out to devour our fears. I’m the new messiah. Walking on water. The coroner. Burying your future. The next coming.
Ahulani McAdam "World According to Thought"
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