Terrorism

Terrorism smells like Miller Lite. Turning on a red light and getting pulled over. Not knowing, not knowing, if the police officer will smell the Miller Lite too. Having the police officer look me dead in the eye as he writes the ticket, and learning the many ways in which the ticket is my fault on the way back home. Terrorism knows that you do not remember this experience, and terrorism doesn’t allow me to forget. Terrorism is inside you as you waddle up the stairs with red eyes, and transfer your red eyes to my mother. Terrorism makes you want to believe so badly, that you are a man, that you are not the man, that you are not man enough. Terrorism is the blue and red lights that reflect in the background and pretending not to hear them tell your little sister to call the police. Terrorism looks like a man’s world when the men are all too human. Plus there is one quality about Terrorism, that I don’t know how to reconcile, that I do not understand. Terrorism does believe in the future, it is dark, black. And terrorism is how I use those same adjectives to describe myself.