We did not evolve
to sit alone all
walled up in
our personal prisons.

We grew to be
hugging and touching,
not hiding
and scared,
afraid that the virus out there
will get us
and cause
us to be
the reason why
our loved ones
get sick and die.

We did not survive this long
by existing in
a state of constant anxiety
and suspicion,
of being timid when
stranger come in
needing help,
but now we hesitate
not out of hate
but from a desire
to keep those we love safe.

We grew to be
something
of beauty,
a collective to see
striving for the betterment
our shared humanity.

Or, perhaps, that was
just my little fantasy
and this fear induced reality
of isolation
that we’re facing,
is the place
we have been racing
to get to since
the industrial revolution.

I’ve seen one fragile body
go from zero to sixty,
go from nothing to anxiety
and shaking
then to thin arms of rage
and a voice made for breaking
those she loved.

I’ve seen the thin lines
on her skin
as the child tries to
take what tears her up from within
and pull out all of her feelings.

I’ve seen a grown man
break down and cry
unable to verbalize why.

I’ve watched the world
and felts its pain
but seldom got up
to save them all
and that is my personal shame.

I’ve dealt with fascist,
super A type asshats
that want to control everything.
They are frequently strictly
overmanaging me.

I am not conservative or liberal.
I am poetic not literal,
so please don’t feed me your vitriol.

I got no political agenda
except to convince you
to basically just be
a kinder collectively.

So, give me less attitude
and I will give you
a life lived with gratitude.

The heart that has been haloed
by horrible years of abuse,
ill-used still learns to view
the world with love
and tidal waves of
compassion.

The mind that has been
constantly poisoned
by ruthless men
and heartless women,
still finds that little
sparkling light
to push back the snakes
that slither in the night.

The person
who could have been
horrible,
but chose instead
to take the terrors
that stir in his head
and brew a better
not bitter being.

May not be the prettiest thing,
but is far more beautiful than
any Hollywood fantasy.

I once held
high ideals.

Hoping that I
would not sit
idly by
while others tried
to use and abuse
the disenfranchised.

Hoping that I
could use my creativity
to wake and relate all people
to their dormant humanity.

Hoping that I
would not turn
a blind eye
to a person in pain,
or a person being shamed
for that which
they have no power
to change.

Hoping that I
would never act unkind,
betraying those things
I held dear to my being,
such grand moral standards.

I failed and still do,
in favor of self-comforting,
in accepting the view
that nothing I do
matters.

I failed faltering
in moments of weakness,
and sadly I
still fail to rise
to the levels
I wished to reach
and fly.

I find my humanity
in stories,
in Japanese Anime
and cool manga,
where all those heroes
spring from things
that seem unbearable.

I find my humanity
in far flung fantasies,
of fictional realities
where characters strive to be
better than they were previously,
where they are constantly
working and growing like me.

I find my humanity
in flowing verses of poetry
that sweep stale cobwebs
from my sad cluttered head
and help me see things differently,
which is what my scifi perspectives
also offer me.

Even though, sorrow stains my
poetic flows,
bringing in
cynicism,
and anger towards my fellow men.
Even when people tend
toward hateful trends
of violence, sexism, racism,

somewhere in the art I love
lay similar hearts of
humane ambition,
of nuclear fission,
of dreamers on a mission,
and there my humanity
is frequently restored to me.

It’s the internet
and I hate it,
dealing daily with
raving lunatics.

On a regular basis
I see raging faces
of uniformed racist
ranting about baseless
accusations.

I thought I had the solution,
to the mass confusion
generated by
all those pasty old guys.

I was certain,
and I rationalized
that once they realized
that the fox news dudes
we’re feeding them lies,
they would come around
to my point of view.

What a sweet certain avenue
I followed you through
thinking reasoning was needed
and that it would change you who
truly believed in the hate that you seeded.

But now I admit I am defeated.
As far as I can see
some people are not open
to changing and growing.

No more tears left in me,
so back to my bubble I go,
where my people agree
and know what I know,
a safe space where I will stay,
cause while the world burns
I am certain to be squirreled away
with the rest of my disheartened,
dry eyed dying idealists.

I am the stone you skipped,
the heart you forget
as soon as you let go of it.

I am the lost horizon
once the hot guy comes in,
and you leave favoring him.

I the note not played
and the loss of it changes
the whole freaking arrangement.

I am the man you abandoned
because of your derangement
as you fawn over an *******
who can’t even pass anger management.

So, when you cry and ask
why you can’t find a good guy
I’ll cry and laugh at the madness
of even trying to be kind.

There is a furnace
that burnt us,
turning smiles to dust
and kindness
to distrust.

A place where
suspicion
was sharpened
to the point of
cutting the hearts
that might
offer true love.

In that hell
some have seen
a shell
form around themselves
whilst others have internalized
the fires that fried their lives.

I have been there to
and turn those blazes toward
breaking swords
and building bridges
to places where we
can be a gentler breed
of humanity.

What makes us human,
is not easily defined?

What clutters this mess
we call conscious
is not something
I can measure well
with my mind?

What drives the feminine mystique
is a perilous penultimate peak
which I seek?

What moves us all
to walk or crawl
when life’s pain
is overriding
our common sense
when our existence
does not permit this
persistence?

What is the truth?