In the State of Furzyth

Psychological Phenomenon

Furzyth [fər´zɪð]
Noun (21st Century)

Psychological phenomenon or concept of furzyth.
Having furzyth or being in a state of #furzyth.

Description: A state of secret or disguised identity either by change of name, being, thought process, familial relationship, appearance, or other forms of altered truth in an attempt to better life’s perceived circumstances or outcomes. Outwardly, furzyth has the closest connection to the act of a chameleon through deception of others and self. The state of furzyth may be known or unknown to the person in the state. Others may recognize that another is in the state of furzyth even if they could not recognize it in themselves. Sometimes a person will deliberately pursue deception in order to be perceived as the outcome they desire only to then lose sight of who they were before.

Origin: Latin [fur] — secretive, deceptive, furtive. Hebrew [Zyth/Seth] — appointed, named, Seth.

Furzyth

A Poem

one scholarship away
from my father’s mouth
whiskey and some other
unknown flavor
smashed against
my forever (forgotten)
childhood.

only two street weeks
out of the thirty two
until I am sixteen.
no one noticed (I hope)
early for work
early for school
trying to shower before the
swim team
hand dryers in the grocery store
hand soap crust
my braces need care.

then seventeen (I counted)
other people’s couches
cat sheddings and cigarettes
the crumbs of other people’s
midnights
away from her complicit
silence.

one court order away
(he won’t show up)
I represent myself
my sister, younger
lost to online predators
that’s her way
no witness to what will
happen later
but I will not be victim.

one judge to let me
leave the system
one day
I will paint him
a glorious horse
dyed every hue of freedom.

Torn Leash

A Poem

when at the edge of getting caught
I knew nothing more
beyond
what he told me
the moon would light our walk
that night
the car rumbled off
I laughed at the jolt

the woods weren’t new
of course I figured out
blindfold off
I stood just beyond the
soccer fields
where the dance team
stole away to smoke
and my sister

warned me not to tell
and watch my back
if ever he would take me here
I laughed her off
and caught her eyes
lupine in their coloring
my lungs caught short
from memory

of thoughts of being hunted
like when I was locked outside
her friend sneered at me
the window where our
grandma slept
those final years
that friend’s silhouette
eyes in the dark

let me in
or keep me out
you don’t fool me
for one bit
I slashed her tires
that night, I did
my sister had
it coming

the trees outlined
traced by clouds
his breath along my neck
a desire
and a sickness
all at once
the breeze carried rain
his sweat suffocating

my rage, boiling
wishing away
his hand
pushing me down the trail
crunch of twig
came to an end
suddenly, “Run!”
and he let go

into the darkness
with the plan
spoiled by fear
chased down
and delicious
sisters feast
the blindfold
in his hand

Happy Halloween!

Someone Let Him In

But No One’s Held Accountable

An elementary school
One dead set on security
One with bills to pay
Just like all of us
One dollar away from closing
One family trust shy
Of the things we thought
We paid for

You can hire a new person
Who won’t recognize faces
The ones who can’t hurt us
The solidarity of community
Hate splayed on the inside
Where maybe my child
Sat for lunch last week

Some stranger’s scribblings
The need to feel power
Let in with a key
Who has the key
Who knows the combination
A man with some ink
Who chooses White Power

A statement so bold
Written where our children eat
How did he get here
A friend of the family
So bold to hold witness
To the comfort we seek

When I was a child
It was better to hide
Where the ones before
Me arrived from
Could be shot by a kid
Who said it would happen
At recess

This mother won’t be quiet
This is not what she chose
For her son
She chose at least hoping
For the illusion of safety
He wouldn’t have to run

Graffiti so loud
Drafts of future lives
Quaking
You were not supposed
To be here
But someone let you in.

Samantha Lazar 2019

Other work by Samantha Lazar:Cut Yourself Open (And Let Your Writing Heal You)
What locked boxes are hidden deep in your closet?medium.com