Games

Pensive. Confused. That knot that only anxiety has the power to muster. Embarrassment of naivety exposed. Not even the cold wind can coax these worried feet to hasten their thoughtful, plodding steps. Didn't anybody care when I declared my abhorrence of politics? When I claimed abstention from their games? No, they jeer, you are a part of this. Everybody is a part of this; no exemptions. You can ignore them, but the politics will play you just the same. And the politics did play me. Played me, regurgitated me even as I spurned them. Must I play their game to beat them at it? Why can I not stand outside, act outside their realm? Why must their tentacles coil around every corner? Is there no choice? I want to clear a space for integrity, but it is so quickly overgrown. I want to trust another's intention, but I am made to calculate and question. I want to share my knowledge, but I am reprimanded by propriety and exclusivity. I want to say what I think; I do. And I am played, played, played.