My Occupation

I am an occupier
 Of space. Of volume. 
A being -
a physical object.
 I'matter,
tangible/intangible, 
evolved for seeing.

 I freely choose to make
 my presence known.
Through purpose
by design. 
 Make it felt. 
Make it count. 
And make it shown.

 Refusing to be constrained
 by expectations 
I can't control.
I stand my ground 
- steadfast, immutable.
Not a coward, from distance, 
behind computer screen, 
or grassy knoll. 

 Defying others' perceptions
 packed and coiled like DNA, 
soon to unfold.
 Denatured by those old stories -
rancid and rotting, 
they were told.

About me, they regale themselves 
Vivid tales - from their lips 
Bleed 
their powerful, twisted narratives. 
Their Truth of Lies, 
that was decreed.

The wind, 
throwing deadly missiles.
Words 
like shooting hail in a storm, 
Designed to damage and destroy
My coat of armour - 
Impervious; 
The resistance uniform.

I will not stand down, defer, 
nor condone
these no longer questioned 
known facts 
they have shown 
their true nature, at face value
Believe them, 
their words and their acts.

 I'm coloured by the crayons
Outside the lines,
I remain the occupier 
of my space, 
my being, and my time
Rising against those, 
who want me defined.

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash