Isn't about the hatred of another person
Isn't about screaming opinions at the top of your lungs
Isn't about attacking others

Social Justice
Is about standing in the middle of a crowded room and shouting what's right as they shout what's wrong
Words flowing
Blood pumping

Screaming about Baltimore and Ferguson
White people crying wolf while blacks cry fear

Social Justice
Is the construct that is refused because it's right
And we know it's right
But refuse to believe it in all of its glory

I like nice things.
I like nice clothes and nice cars and nice houses.
I like nice people and nice animals.

I don't like the people that i know.
I'm not caught up on material value.
I like nice things but it doesnt consume me,
like the people that i know.

I've seen things and i've been places where people are less fortunate.
I'm not consumed with material value. I know there's much worse.

I'll always remember my trips out east
I loved the winding roads and how green the grass was
No mosquitos, only fireflies.
Glowing in the air, twinkling like low hanging stars on a clear night

My grandfather is dying now and the next trip i'll take is to say goodbye
I don't even get to say goodbye,
only a "see you later".

My mother is torn apart.
bed ridden and overcome with emotion

I'm unable to process the emotion
unable to cry
going on with my life effortlessly
but going home to see my mother quietly suffering
losing her hero.

I'll miss the trips out east. I'll miss the big houses and the feilds of green.
I'll miss the kind people,
people that aren't here.

I'll miss truly being free and being myself with people that don't know who i am.
Now i have the west, oceans and sun and relatives.

But it'll be nothing like out east. My home away from home.

eyes wide
cold skin
messy hair
wrapped in a blanket

tired body
glass of gin
a good book
no light
no help
no one to talk to