Poetry: World War
“We are all human,” I say to them.
They reply, “Then why are we so angry?”
Why do our skin shades swoop and stretch?
Why do our rights stretch with them?
Us in the shadows, us in the light.
(This is a double meaning).
Double meaning, double standard, double-edged sword.
We must not wield it,
But we do.
Why do we love normally and abnormally?
Why do we think it abnormal?
Why do we profit from our hideous past?
Assigning months to conceal our shame.
Uncovering, or should I say covering, what we have kept hidden.
When does the consumer realize its fault?
When does the business realize the fault it has laid?
One month, no more.
Onto the next overcorrection.
Why do we tell them to raise their voices but say they’re too loud?
Why do we raise our voices?
Why don’t we talk?
Why do we scroll past the broadcasted genocide to find the Wordle?
I’ll give you a five-letter word: freed.
Why doesn’t Palestine find it familiar?
No one knew that one.
(Streak lost, try again tomorrow).
Guns could start a war but words could end one.
Tell me: Why do we keep funding guns?
Tell me: What word will make it stop?
Tell me: What’s the difference between a war and a massacre?
A war makes us feel better about the lies we are living,
The lives that are not living.
To accept the latter is to accept our disgusting contentment.
We watch the news only to glimpse a jarring reflection of our worst selves.
Turn off the TV,
Close the blinds,
Lock the doors,
And the windows,
There is nothing out there.
A life in the dark bears less blame (it doesn’t, you just don’t know otherwise).
When does a life start being our own?
When does a life stop being our own?
When does a body become a goldmine?
Pot belly of gold.
Why do politicians reside between the ribs of women?
Building fences,
Preventing access.
When does a body become a land mine?
The explosion of a heartbeat,
Too late (always too late).
TikTok, tick-tock,
Why does freedom exist within parameters?
Free speech is a warning,
Free speech is cautionary,
Free speech is delicate,
Best not to use yours.
We also exist within parameters,
Dangling our legs over the chasm of tomorrow.
Always too stubborn to go back but too afraid to go forward.
We sit on the ledge.
We hate those who aren’t us,
But we hate ourselves too.
They ask, “Why are we so angry?”
I could reply, “The only thing we’ve ever known is war,”
But I am angry too.
