Zebras and old western movies and segregation and newspaper...
You'd like to think that I'd like to think that they are real,
But nothing is that simple.
Nothing is so fuzzy and dated and clarified.
Because he smiled as he smacked and she cried tears when she sympathized.
The world is not this or that and emotions are not happy or sad and people are not him or her.
It is not black and white or even the greyest gray.
Its saturated with colors that make me oh so dizzy and lost.
And I begged him for the answers he did not have,
And I flooded her with questions, never thinking of the consequences that came with partial responses.
I called out for peace, though the war is inside me.
Constant debates on what is wrong and what is right, but nothing
Nothing is black and white.
Times New Roman stares at me, glimmering brilliantly.
I am not two halves and they are not monsters and you are not angels.
The voices in my head are not so generous.
They would speak into crackling microphones
and tell me how unspoken language works.
They are with the times and so am I, but I am universal where nothing else is.
There are no opposites.
Nothing can help me but my refusal to accept everything as anything other than a spectrum of somethings.