Stupidity comes in all shapes and forms.
But the most stupid of all, is he who refuses to be aware— simply because they think the fact of it to be inherently stupid.

you come and go
through my mind
a passing murmur
of something sinister
death so sweet
whispering in my ear
manipulations that cannot
be unheard
and I plunge.

My only crime was to have been born a woman.
a crime with no trial, no verdict, just sentence.
The world does not break us all at once;
it whittles, peels, pares us down
until we fit the hollow it has carved.

They say we are too much.
Too loud, too soft, too sharp, too small.
A contradiction they built,
then condemned for its shape.

We fold ourselves into corners,
tuck our rage beneath our tongues,
wrap our worth in apologies
and call it survival.
That is not living— it is simply existing.

But we are not ghosts.
Not echoes of something lesser.
We are steel spun fine,
fire woven into silk—
soft does not mean breakable.

We are here.
We have always been here.

And we are not leaving quietly.

Years ago I knew a girl.
She was small, and timid— and believed cleverness and friendship would solve everything.
She believed that good would prevail bad— because that’s how the fairytales always went.
There was always some virtuous ending.
Some righteous belief.
Lately, it doesn’t seem so.
Lately, I’m noticing that it was all wishful thinking.
Good will not always prevail.
Now is not the time to relegate to oblivion— or to let one’s mind wonder.
Violence is never stomped down with peace.
Now is the time to listen— to stand up, and let your voice be heard.
A message I wish the world to hear.

The grass is brown, and the skies are dark.
The wind is crisp and icy; the people are frowning.
That house is on fire, and the fire department is nowhere near.
The pages are burning, and we’re forgetting history.
Lies are believable when they have pretty lips—but the teeth are sharp, and the tongue is rotting.
The paint is peeling, and the floor is falling beneath us.
Yet everyone has filters applied to their realities—versions in which they tell themselves everything is fine.
To ignore everything will make it okay.
And I wonder—when the last filter fades, will they still believe it?