Fair

This is not my battle

but you've handed me

a sword 

and while your armor is made of

steel

mine is made of

glass

and that’s not fair.

I fear 

my friends

will become

your enemies

and the mass of casualties

will pile up at my feet.

I should not 

write about this

because it is

salt

in a gaping wound.

I’m trying

to tell you

this hurts.

I could write an epic poem on how much this hurts.