I am young..
I am young and I am Embarrassed and I am Hopeless
and I am Discouraged.
We are a torn and bruised country. Dogs and wolves with frothing mouths represent and repress the bays of mass flocks.  
I am embarrassed to be so privileged, because when drowned children wash up on our shores, we do not take to the streets in furious rage. I cannot be the only one who feels this way. It is sticky and feverish.. My palms are chronically clammy.
I cannot be the only on here who sees this and feels the yearning for justified outrage and conscious righteousness.
Do not misinterpret me. I do not want revenge.
I am young. And I am sad and I am angry.
And I am ashamed. I am ashamed for the terrible things in this world. I am ashamed that I have not done more to make it right. I am ashamed that I am perpetuating this cycle of apathy.  
I am nauseated.. when an animal gets shot at the zoo, people will remember his name and how he died.
I am angry that we do not know the names of men and women who died for our country with no thanks.. No parade. Soldiers who; bloodied bruised and broken, carried their sister's and brothers through the pit of hell and over the Devil’s rosy cheeks.  
But now, I am not as young.  And still I am seeing more and more that my rage turns to sorrow and my sorrow into hopelessness and hopelessness into indifference. It is a writhing desperate wale. It is the sound of all of the mothers who watched their children grow up only in their imaginations, and the fathers whose daughters and sons were ripped from their calloused fingers. It is a writhing desperate wale.
And still, I do not know what to do. Instead, I am weeping inside and choking on selfie sticks and Sephora perfume.