It is supposed to be neat

Even, tied off like a bow

But you protest

Fight back with yells and obscenities that bounce on the walls and stain the perfumed air

Cordial like rinsing away the germs for a day's (weeks, months, years) life

But it is being mucked

Drenching it in guilt, a silence that screams, 'What about us?!'

What about us

I shrug with indifference (as harsh as that looks, feels)

There is no more us and we's

Mere stern I and me

And I am content with my, I's

They fill me

Up

Me who's been consumed with weak we's

I begin my contentment

And you

Try being you for once