I choose to take offense
At whatever I want—
And to take offense
At you raising those eyebrows—
And at you suggesting that
I only have a right to choose
What is right for myself and not for you.
I am mad at the world
And all you offensive people,
But don’t think that I would
Finally be happy if I were
Left alone here on this planet,
For I’d take offense at that, too,
Having been robbed of all targets
For my lashing out.
Offense is all I have.
It is my identity.
I am stuck
And don’t know
How to break free of it.
I don’t know how to be for
Anything except being against things.
But for now, that’s not a problem
Because I’m not ready to cut it out.
And what are you looking at?
