by Arianna Schifman '21
It seems to me to be the most peculiar feeling
Of being a consequence
Everything (Everyone?) happens for a reason
But we don’t get to choose our reason
you’re paying the price for someone else’s mistakes
The penance for someone else’s sin
But here you are the price
Who you are, made as punishment for a stranger’s folly
You do what you are told
And the pied piper sets you on your march to the sea with all the other vermin
You search helplessly for your value in someone’s remorse
And mean nothing when it is achieved.
And you wait for something else to need you at the bottom of the sea.