I wrote something on the subway, on my way to work. After a kind of rough, emotionally tumultuous weekend. Here it is:

I hate you, world, for
interfering with something that could've been beautiful.
I hate you, world, for
messing up what made my belly tingle and my eyes light up.
I hate you, world, for
being cruel to those of us who need tenderness the most.
I hate you, world, for
hitting and kicking us when we're down.
I hate you for being so good at what you do,
The social machine all oiled-up, in tip-top shape,
Your traffic signals working on us even when we close our eyes to dream.
And I hate that there's no one to blame
- no Hitler, Stalin, evil monger,
no wicked witch to drop our clear waters on.
How can I fight when you pay the officials off,
so they can send their kids to college?
How can I score against you when the basket is rigged far out of my reach?
But how can I concede defeat with your plastic android cheerleaders
bouncing in encouragement for me?
I'm sore and hungry but your bitches won't shut up with
"you can do it!" and "go get em!" and I think you're the only one
who's enjoying this game,
watching me twist and fake left, then circle around, look for my pass,
but - what have you done with my teammates?