"Revolution" is just another word for getting by

You're back on the bus, smelling faintly of tear gas.
You would expect to feel like something.
Like a hero,
or a rebel,
or at the very least someone who made a difference.
You would expect the camaraderie to be celebratory.
Not a quiet, comforting exhaustion.
It feels exactly like the ride home from work yesterday.
And it will feel exactly like the ride home from work tomorrow.
Because you're no Che Guevara.
No Emma Goldman.
No Nelson Mandela.
But then again,
neither were they.

https://reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/yrdcvo/_/ivtahtm/?context=1

https://reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/yrb404/_/ivtb5ct/?context=1