by epi

i am a casual observer
to a war waged over the
substance of me.

this one fights for my heart
this one for my mind.

i should stop them:
“this is nothing but careless
carnage. don’t you see? you
aren’t even fighting
for the same parts of me”, but
i can scarcely think
the clanking of (s)words,
the guttural cries of victory &
so, i’m sure i wouldn’t be,
i mean, (of course i meant)
couldn’t be

besides, i think i might be
missing something: like,
why isn’t this my war?
shouldn’t it be?
shouldn’t i be a contender?
&shouldn’t they be battling me?

(“mums the word” i think
as these questions
would surely direct the attention
back to me.
see, i’d lose a battle against the both
of them–just as surely as i lose the
battles against myself.)

i choose
the only option, then. to sit,
a casual observer, disgusted &unnerved
by the gore, but to afraid to speak up,