When we first spoke of Future,
I thought we were on the same page.
Dreams of happiness and comfort,
peace and togetherness.
But then we approached it again
and you instead spoke of money and travels,
and I realised it was
never the same.

When I mentioned having a home,
you first agreed that it was a need,
but only in a place
I would hate.
When I mentioned having a family,
you laughed at me and said ‘you wish’,
as though my feelings didn’t
matter to you.
When I was dreaming of you,
you were content dreaming of life without me.
I asked why I wasn’t
there with you,
and you said that I was
taking things too serious despite all our history.
Like I shouldn’t care that
we are temporary.
While I was lost in the
deep sea bright and clear in your eyes,
you were lost in thoughts
of real yachts
and a life that didn’t include me.

We were written in the same
fantasy book of a love stronger than love.
However, as we grew older,
our paces changed
and I disapeared chapters ahead of you.

I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America
and to the Republic for which it stands,
one nation, under God, indivisible,
with Liberty and Justice for all.

Justice for all our black neighbours
who have the honour of being murdered
should they make the mistake of looking
at a police officer the wrong way;
officers meant to unhold the meaning of justice.

Justice for the gays who’ve spent decades fighting
for their right to publicly exist,
even accepting torture as punishment
for the sake of the greater good;
only for those rights to be put back in a box.

Justice for the women bleeding in alleyways
at the hand of a man who knows
that even if he’s caught,
he’ll still get away with it.
He just has to blame it on her skirt.

Justice for the brothers and sisters
dying at the hands of their cruel parents
and a crueler system that would care more
if only they still existed in the womb.
A life being lived is a life not important, I suppose.

Justice for the mentally impaired
who were perceived as burdens
and God’s punishment for mankind to bear;
who are still fighting for their right
to work, own, and love as others do.

Justice for the felons who got the label
in a state of teenage recklessness,
who have not the right to vote
or have themselves a good career,
but get to watch another run for president.

Justice for the Natives who often go missing
and reappear mysteriously deceased,
but are rarely ever looked for
or never given any protections.
Who are still fighting for their right to keep their land.

Justice for the children
who have to practice lockdowns
in case their school is the next one attacked.
The fear of not going home heavy on their hearts;
thoughts and prayers the only thing sent if they die.

Justice for the non-Christians whose lives are threatened
and temples are frequently attacked
because they don’t fit under the allegiance,
for the don’t follow the ‘right’ God
or practice the ‘right’ way.

Justice for all of the lonely Americans
who have to watch their liberties
be put on the stand and questioned again.
The ones fighting one more time for the right to live.
To love. To be safe. To be a person.

Justice for the ones watching
The arrogant applaud their loss of freedoms
for the sake of their own personal gain.
Justice for the ones listening to their loved ones
tell them that it doesn’t matter.
I guess we just don’t matter.

To Liberty and Justice for all.

The journey was not meaningless,
but what purpose did it hold?
The memories are sweet,
though bitter they may be.
Almost too bitter for a lone soul to bare.
In the end, they are nothing;
not even there.
In the end,
nothing is there.

Screams may fill the air,
the sound may be deafening,
but there is no escaping.
Too many people won’t bring themselves to care
about the sound, about their neighbours, about humanity.

We are not alone,
but we have never been in a crowd.
We are not hopeless,
but hope is running out.
We are not doomed,
but salvation never seems to come.

How do you hold on
when there is nothing left to grasp?
How do you pull yourself out of a hole
when the rocks are filed smooth?
Who do you turn to
when the backs keep turning?
And when it’s all over,
who remembers you?

Murdered at the hands of leaders
who won’t bring themselves to see the errors.
The fear keeping the eyes closed
so the bliss of ignorance never goes.
The end brought by the ego
too proud to say a single word.

Some way, peace will come.
It may come bloodied with an axe,
bringing forth more suffering than ever before.
But eventually that will be the end.
The chaos, the fighting,
the wars, the hatred,
the pain, and then
The final scream
signifying the end of pain forever.
Though completely avoidable,
if not for the willingness to not see
that which does not serve you.

The rotting bags of flesh,
the smell of sweet death,
the emptiness of the souls,
and the hurt now left.
All at the cost of everyone.
All at the hands of humanity’s pride.

Meet me at the graveyard
where the vines grow wild
and trees cover the tombs.
Where we can take off our shoes
and step on grass so soft
yet so overgrown.
Where the spirits of those now resting
can enjoy our quiet company,
knowing they are not truly alone.

Meet me at the graveyard
where someday we will be sleeping
and sit with me on moss-covered benches.
Watch the sky with me
as it shifts slowly from day to night
and hear with me
as the cicadas start to play.
Smile with me as the world
takes on a new calm.

Meet me at the graveyard
where we will hold hands
and touch skin,
possibly for the last time.
Where our bones will grow frail
and become nothing but a memory
of what once was.
We can frolic through the flowers
and marvel at their dead-tired look together,
making comments on similarities
in how we feel.

Meet me at the graveyard,
down under the Earth.
Where the worms will whisper to us,
welcoming us to our new home.
We can lay in spaces next to each other
and reminisce on days once lived,
our ghosts longing for touch no longer felt.
The coffins will sigh
with the shifting of the ground
and the ravens will peck the eyes of those
who threaten to bother us.

Meet me at the graveyard
where our souls can finally rest,
woken only by guests
bidding us the best.
Where the trees will grant us shade
and the vines will sprout pretty flowers;
from you to I,
and from I to you.

Meet me at the graveyard
where our bodies will die,
but our love can live forever.