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?
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
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?
