Here I stand
With lips too clumsy to make sounds that create words,
that form sentences
that ask questions
like, "Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?"
So I stand
And silently offer you this box of conversation hearts.
Not because I think you have bad taste in candy,
but because I think you're pretty great
and I'm hoping that the rattle of the candy inside my box
can translate these words imprisoned in my head into ones
that are easily read
in small print
on tiny hearts
that we hold in our palms
and carry to our mouths
and swallow the way I swallow my words.
Cause if I set them free they may fly around your head
like butterflies made of lace and lead
like a little girl trying on her mother's high heeled shoes.
Awkward
Unsteady
I must look that way to you.
So I'm gonna smile and stand
With my candy in my hand
and hope that these hearts can break the ice.
I'm not asking for the rest of your life.
Just tonight.
The rest of the weekend might be nice.

I dream of a world beyond my expression
That can only be described by the sensation
in a single emotion at one single moment.
Minds cross and cross over and attach to form one point.
When you feel electricity running all along your nerves
And your breath is deeper and it’s like your head can’t up with your heart
and you aren’t quite sure what’s going on but it is good and it is right.
And it is love. It is what we thrive on. It is behind art, music and drama.
Full of pinks and yellows and greens and sometimes blue.
But sometimes that’s what is part of the spectrum
Your synapses are flooded with serotonin.
You became locked in that single moment and
Even though it’s not perfect, it still feels
Pretty **** close.

When I grow up, I want to be kind.
I want to happy and peaceful
I want to speak softly and listen loudly.
I want to be a person my children look up to
I want to wander with purpose
I want to find things I'm not looking for
When I grow up, I want to be loved
I want to laugh
I want to live vigorously
I want growth. I crave growth.
I need my life to be more
I need to dream.
When I grow up, I need to be daring
I'm going to climb trees
I'm going to explore
I'm going to ask strangers about their day.
I'm going to embrace myself. Flaws and all.
I'll sing out loud when I know they can hear me
My life will be a metaphor for something that hasn't been invented yet

Whenever I think about how I feel about you,
M y thoughts get all tangled up like a long string of Christmas tree lights.
And I’m afraid that even if I take the time to unravel the knot,
It won’t be a beautiful and bright and colorful as when my thoughts are jumbled when I think about you.

I am angry.

You should be angry. We should all be angry.

It was breakfast in Tripoli when she burst into the Rixos hotel housing foreign journalists bleeding, bruised and burned by ropes. She went there because they would listen. She wanted to tell the world her story.

Gadhafi’s forces held her against her will for 2 days being tortured and ***** by 15 different men. Her body displayed the proof.

When she spoke up her government was quick to stifle her. Called her a *******. Questioned her sanity.  Security suppressed her. Even her own people called her a traitor. She was drug off to a waiting car and we haven’t heard from her since.

She is the very definition of courage. She stood up for herself and her people, knowing the consequences of her actions might lead to her end.  
She dared to stand in a crowded room, scream at the top of her lungs, and demand the world’s attention. And for so long, no one noticed. Until someone finally looked up.

I feel like I should be comforted by this fact. The fact that her story was told and now we know the disturbing way Gadhafi’s government operates. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m still angry. It wasn’t just her honor that was violated.  It’s every woman in Libya. In Iraq. In Sudan. In Afghanistan. In America.
Every woman afraid to swim, paralyzed by the fear that they will create waves. Every woman in dangerous places seeking safety and security. Every woman who is disrespected and devalued and disregarded and dominated. Every woman who is made to believe she is inferior and that she is only worth what is in between her legs.

I want to do more. I want to bring change. I want to open eyes. I want to start a revolution. I want to teach women to swim so that they won’t drown. I want them to kick and splash and cause a tsunami and knock down societies that threaten the worth of a woman. I want to march into when Eman is being held and demand for her freedom. I want her integrity cleared. I want to beat down oppression with my own two fists.

But instead I sit in the dark and I cry and I pray. Watching the news, being angry and afraid. Her name was Eman al-Obeidy. She was a mighty and bold priestess. When they destroyed her temple, she stood up on the mountain and preached a message of justice and social change and necessity. And she was silenced in front of our very eyes. The memory of her face still fresh in our minds and her song resonating in our hearts saying, “TAKE ACTION.”