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R.O.C.K. in the USA

We are Twenty-First Century Foxes of War

By Diane Michelle CampbellPublished 2 months ago 3 min read
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R.O.C.K. in the USA
Photo by Giorgio Parravicini on Unsplash

We Are Twenty-First Century Foxes of War :

Is there a path to peace? Must we choose war? I am Senator Artemis Nez Pebdani, Queen of the Desert, Goddess of War. I am pleading with all of you to stand down. Let us make today our Armistice Day. Why must all treaties on Earth end with lies and deception? When will we prepare an agreement that will remain unbroken. We say that we believe in one God? How can we believe in a singular entity called God when we are each gods and creators and citizens? Where we have failed ourselves and this planet as a whole is that some of you believe that you are above the law. How can we call ourselves anything if even one law that we create is unjust to any being that exists? Are we humane sentient beings or Gods and Monsters?

I refuse to sit with idle hands and an addled brain and bury my head in the sand while men, women, and children of any race including the human race go without food, water, and/or shelter. Why should anyone walk anywhere without shoes upon their feet? Why should anyone of any kind be unable to read? I am an educator. I am a peacekeeper. I am NOT a war monger! If you want me to be anything other than the person I was born to be, I can no longer be of service to anyone, not even my husband and my children.

I will not sign a proclamation of WAR! I will not create another treaty. I will not sit on another committee. I will not have another discussion while sipping tea, coffee, brandy, or port wine. I will not answer your phone calls, text messages or emails. I am neither your friend, nor your enemy. I am just me. I am a daughter to my parents and many others. I am a mother to my children, and I will be a mother to your children if need be. I am the wife and servant of one God: my husband, Eros. I will not tell you to talk to my hand as I exit. I will simply request that you talk to him instead of me, FOREVER.

Our family name Truseka; we only true vegans of Earth. We not tribe of two-face; we tribe of stone. Our brothas be one face; our sistas be sleep. Dis day da truth hunt ends. We fight no more forever!

As we turn to home in stars where truth hunt not needed, we must mourn eating flesh, period. For this be land where the orphaned indigenous child held a cast iron skillet as dark and deep as her coal colored skin as she slayed titans and shouted out loud, “You beasts must die!”

To the God of this universe, my husband, I say, “I am Truth Seeker, if I see the giant beasts you call family feasting upon flesh for sport in a land of plenty, I hit them in head with skillet, and grind they bones to make bread. You see, my husband, I killed them before in battle in another land, and these minor gods, my husband, told me, your child bride, to go fuck myself because they know I be the white nigga from the one-faced tribe.

My husband, my God, my lover, my man, my baby, if they force me to waste flesh again in the universe of your making, you must decide at that very moment if I be brown, black, white or in between because once I slay a being of your making for food in true battle, I must mourn the loss of our lives together and become a stone.

Humanity
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About the Creator

Diane Michelle Campbell

I write to be free.

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