sod

I know you. I know you better than you know me. But I think that is because you are more transparent than mid-day windows. The sun that reflects onto you is not quite the same that reflects on me. Yours is much brighter, larger, and exposes more than it should. Mine is smaller, muted, and bounces light back into the earth beneath me.
So, I know you. I know your secrets. I know the lies you spread like sod around you. I am familiar with the verses you rehearse in your head, the snappy comebacks you'll say that day you finally 'fight back'. The worst part about knowing all of this is that you'll never 'fight back', but mostly because you don't want to fight, you like the system too much.
People confuse my passion for being self-righteous. They assume that just because I don't want to bond with total strangers, or call you my 'sister' just because we both have vaginas - that I think I am better than you. This couldn't be further from the truth. I am just not interested in you. There are more important things to me. If you trip and fall, I will help you up. But I will not sit next to you during lunch to talk about my pets with you for no reason. I don't care if my funeral attendance is sparse, because I will be dead.