his wobbly voice
tells me one more time
and i know this is false
because i have not seen violence.
i have not witnessed body and blood
nor torched homes lighting a path
in the darkness.
i have not carried the guts of my brothers
on my back,
i have never watched fire fall
and touch every layer of every existing fiber on it.
a mild case,
and i refuse to believe it
because my pain
doesn't hurt that much.
no matter how many times
i dare myself to stare,
i have not seen the whites of death's eyes.
there is a fine line between my fears and what scares voids into men's hearts,
one i have never dared to cross.
it's different for everyone.
you're in denial.
i tell myself,
this label is yours
but i have enough dignity to know
it is not.