they cannot contain nonconformity, they already have my soul locked up in a cellar, a speechless being with incitement and spark, removed from the body: but as the transition approaches, so does my representation in society I MATTER I MATTER I MATTER a lifting of faith and aspiring traits, moving the crowds of martyrs amongst the claimed saints
opinionated with my provoked past, and ripped from my own voice, i regained a spirit indescribable, far more powerful than anger: but instead, harmony and composure I MATTER I MATTER (my voice counts, giving quirk and spark to the souls in awe)
YOU MATTER YOU MATTER
black lives matter, as in the same sense /all lives matter/
*born and raised in ferguson, missouri in the midst of all of the chaos in the past year*
The human being is an inherently contentious creature.
Seven billion rock-wall eyes; Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses; Noses affixed to seven billion faces; Faces covered in creases and scars, Framed in unruly hair And outlined in stark exactness By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.
Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable". We are an incongruence: We row up the rapids, Scale the waterfall And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.
We will always get what we want, Whether it involves killing the albatross Or playing Gondorff's chess. Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp Or that of our more miserly peers.
Robert C. crystalised our resolve.
The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats Stand abreast. Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.", They begin the forward press.
When an impish grenade leaps our way, We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.
The barricades erected By Mother and ourselves alike Are many and implacable and incessant, But they will be broken and overtaken.
They will be broken and overtaken by us, The humans, Because we are.
the air feels like fire. it’s cold but there’s something lingering in it and it burns enough to make you warm. it envelops you in hundreds of smells, wet pavement, fresh paint, gasoline, salt, the smells of a city alive at night. heads and ears pulsating and ringing as the hundreds of voices surrounding you dance. it’s been nine days since a boy was shot in cold blood by an unpunished officer. "protect and serve" there are hundreds of sweating and shaking bodies surrounding your own in a protestor’s dance. on a crisp night like this, nobody is a singled. we are one, screaming, angry, and trembling mass. a man walks by. usually you would take into account his presence. you would notice that he was tall, towering over you, or the scar that ran through his thick eyebrow like lightning. usually you’d be gripped by an unintentional fear by his overpowering existence, but tonight it doesn’t matter. maybe take into attention the tiny pale woman who’s body was shoved into yours, and how her bones jut out like they’re trying to escape. tonight is not that night. tonight is the night where the streets of portland, maine, and hundreds of other cities around the world run with sweat and tears. tonight is the night in which humanity falls like dropping a feather in the wind. tonight is passion like boiling water from a teapot long ignored.