This is America. The land of the free, home of the brave. The owners of slaves. The office of secrets while the public are slayed. Physically. Emotionally and Spirtually we say, but are we free? Are we brave? He told them to bomb us, and were supposed to feel safe? Shootings. Innocent people dying. The goverment's lying. We can’t be equal when so little are trying. Choices we can’t make, rights that they take, our slogan is fake. Our kids grow up in a world where race is a problem and women aren’t taken seriously, we have to fight for equality for others sexuality. But we are free. Free to watch our country slowly break apart. Watch the world turn into a hateful mark. And we are brave. Its brave to walk into your backyard nowadays, because who knows if thats the day you die. By a gun. Held by a man. Who when you were a kid you were supposed to trust. And it’s in our hands to do something. It’s in our hands to speak up even when they talk over us. Shushing the hysteria as if it were all made up. Its up to us to make it better. To make it safer. To get back the freedom we once offered. But never given.
Vague photos and still frames: framed and framing, blurred and buffering; and we see it all in snapshots, brushed together
The crowd goes one way, she takes the other, the long way.
I breathe in the toxins of my own pride. My own self fulfilling prophecy that someday I will succeed. That someday I will be someone. I am someone. The corrupter of my own fate. The empty glass that falls to the ground and breaks apart into a million dangerous shards. The quivering hand that writes the letters that spell out "You. Will. Be. Nothing."