Not a Man

Tell me I'm not a man. Up against this charred forest, compelled along its path. Handed these levers, these weights, these high-stakes appraisals. Delivered this beaten, broken mired work, these floundering hopes. Living with my chiseled consequences and fast turn-around confrontations. Captured in someone's climate of conquest. Clad in this breathless armor of control, a frenzy of packaged identity like someone's remedies for whom I am. Tell me I'm not a man along this tree-lined midnight. Lift this metal suit that I may find my way back.