Punks

Her mother had done everything
in her power
to give her and her two brothers
a nice life.
She worked overnights
at a government job,
and she thought I
was some kind of
strange savior
for her depressed daughter.

I was well prepared
for her level of
narcissistic self-absorption,
growing up how I did
and having a touch of that
myself.

We were artists,
whatever that was supposed to mean
at 18.
Mostly it meant we talked about
how special we were
compared to the drones.
We were doing something
they couldn’t understand.

One day her mom
was passed out on the couch
while we watched tv
at a low volume,
when she passed gas
in her sleep.

“Ugh. Fucking pig,” she sneered,
shaking her head in disgust.

With one statement,
she made me see what she was:
an arrogant child
who had taken it all for granted.
Here she was in a nice house,
wanting for nothing,
and she acted like that
toward the woman
who had sacrificed her time…
for what?
For someone who thought
she was nothing.

I lost a little respect
for our punk act
that day.
Anarchy is great
when you have nothing
other than what’s been given to you.

-GD Butler

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