Not That Path

by Mike Vakian

My heart feels cold.
Nerves lost.
When those in power
Harm with impunity,
Smirking behind badges,
Suits, pens, and silence.

I want justice.
Retribution.
Let them feel
That same pain—
The cold cell,
The fear in the throat,
The weight of being unseen.

But no.
Not that path.
That road curves toward rot.
It is just as corrupt.

Because vengeance
Is a mirror
That cracks the soul
Of the one who swings it.

I want change.
Deep. Rooted. Righteous.
I want my voice
To grow teeth and bloom.
I want forgiveness—
Not to release them—
But to unshackle myself.

Not to forget.
But to walk forward
Without dragging their cruelty
In my chest like rusted chains.

Still, let it be known:
They don’t leave unharmed.
You cannot shatter others
Without bleeding from the edges.
Their laughter is hollow.
Their eyes—
Lost behind rehearsed orders.
Their hands dirty with denial
And something deeper:
Fear.

They are cracking
From the inside out,
Even if they wear it well.

But I… we…
We will not mirror their ruin.
We will speak.
We will hold.
We will rage with grace
And rebuild what they tried to erase.

I will resist
With fire in my throat
And still cradle
The wounded,
Even when my own hands shake.

Because I will not
Close my eyes.
I will not
Let my heart go numb.

Not now.
Not ever.
Not that path.