a polished name badge.
the price is forgetting your
own mother's language.
they gave me a crown
of barbed wire and paperwork.
i call it progress.
the gate is well-guarded.
the real prison is our fear
of being outside.

i count the rations.
my own stomach full,
i subtract
one from my brother.
a clean, white collar.
it hides the permanent stain
of the deal i made.
i trade your freedom
for an extra day of mine.
the math is simple.
the train whistle screams.
i hum a favorite tune
to drown out the sound.

warm, sanctioned office.
beyond the glass,
a cold wind.
i pull the blinds shut.
i sign the paper.
my shadow winces in shame.
the furnace gets fed.
they call me leader.
my kingdom is a ghetto.
my throne,
a wooden crate.

my reflection holds
a thousand tired faces.
we all wear my suit.
no one is immune.
the chooser and the chosen
bleed the same quiet blood.
we simply live in
hell.
even it seems,
it's free.