It's always been strange for me
when the car in front of mine slows,
blinker on in the middle of an otherwise still street,
And I watch it turn off into a driveway

I am overcome by a rush of nostalgia
as I realize that, for that one car, for those people,
the house connected to that driveway, that I haven't even taken the time to look at,
To them, that house is home.

It's all too much.

I don't know how to say it better
than saying it like that, because -

How do I wrap all the ends
of the universe
into a napkin
and pass it over to you
without spilling something?

How do I scoop the depths
of humanity's depravity
into an ice-cream
that won't melt
down the sides
or crack from the pressure?

How do I tell you
how terribly awful
it must be
to have to argue
with people
about whether
mutilating the genitals
of 5-8 year old children
is right or wrong?

How do I tell you
about the terror that seizes you
when you talk to someone you love
who honestly believes
that pigmentation,
geographical location,
religious affiliation,
****** orientation,
are reasons
to be killed,
beaten,
detained,
condemned?

How do I describe that
sickening feeling
that I feel
when I'm going about
my coffee-cup flavored,
pill-prescribed diet,
acting like the day is normal,
when I know:
people are being bombed,
sleeping on the streets,
set on fire,
beheaded,
******,
dying,
for doing
or being
the same things
I am going to do and be today
right after I finish my latte?

How do I live with that
knowledge
that girls are kidnapped
for going to school;
that four-year-olds
are holding assault rifles
when they should be
holding dolls;
that five-year-olds
are being trained as soldiers
when they should be
playing with toy soldiers;
that children
are giving birth to children;
that every 9 seconds
in the United States,
a woman is beaten
or *****;
that I have an iPhone
that can do a billion things
and there are
food riots in India,
that -

That I could keep writing
until my fingers were whittled
down to bone
and I wouldn't finish
that list?

How do I describe that,
all of that,
except by saying,

it's all too much?

What would you give up for something you saw in a dream? Would you give up everything? Would you chase it until you had nothing left, without even really knowing what you were looking for?
There’s a reason for being here, and you’re not going to like it. Stop looking. Some things are better off unknown. You can’t change it, you can’t fight it.
For your own good, keep your eyes closed.

Waves of music extend their roots, tingling throughout my brain
On repeat, on repeat
On repeat
They have faded
To the point where the words no longer have sound
Yet my mouth still knows their shape and meter
As if they are my own, from buried deep in my soul
And who knows?
Maybe these words have interwoven themselves into the fabric of who I am
Binding me with the others they've swept away
Pulling me deeper into the glowing furnace of human warmth
All for the price of a listen
And I hear something more than music

In laughter and static, the world flows past my ears
and I hear the promise of being something greater than what we are.

Sometimes you have to take someone by the hand and run by their side, run and run, in circles, if need be-

We are starlings, taking wing together, a silhouette echoing in pieces through the sky-

Run and run, until they find their place
Knowing success only when you let go and they can fly on their own

I forgot my jacket upstairs in the law office that bears my last name on the wall
It's a fancy building, so I need the elevator operator to take me up
'Are you Mr. Maladi's daughter?' he asks
No, actually. I'm Mr. Bradley's daughter
It takes a second before the pieces connect
'I'm so sorry'
He hugs me, teary-eyes
'I loved the man, he was such a good guy,' he nods

It's been over four years

My dad always said to make friends with the people who support a building
He said you never know where they've been
And that too often they're taken for granted, when they're always there when you need them

And today I saw the effects of this
My dad living the way he taught me

I have never been prouder to be his daughter

It seems that adulthood means
Spending a disproportionate amount of time
Calling some big company that doesn't care
If you have more important things to do

You're always on hold.