All of the moments and
minutes stacked,
while he sat alone drinking...
were equal to the moments
and time passed
when she sat alone thinking.
It was algebra, really.

Centuries old walls,
formed from years of
societal wretch,
just tumbled down today.
They have slowly been
crumbling, being distmantled
brick by brick with hands
outstretched, and now
lay pavement, a path toward
better days where love
is no longer an obstacle.
I shall gladly tread upon
this path, toe to heel with
my friends, my family,
my people, and sob these
tears so freely.
Freely.
For
Equality.
Yes.

**6/26/2015**

You light a fire in my belly
that I cannot tame down.
My fingers may dance
with the soft flame
of a candle...
Endowing its
flickering fortitude
then muffling the glow...
But this wildfire in my gut,
it burns as it rages and
simply cannot be controlled.

We love.
We mourn.
We breathe, eat, sleep and die.
We see each other
with our eyes, with our hands
skin on skin
we let each other in,
in to our individual worlds.
Then some choose to rip it all away.
Some choose suffering and bloodshed.
Some choose to turn their heads
and pretend that the world
is peachy–keen and sunshiny fucking sweet.

Maybe because they have everything they need.
Maybe because the travesties that go on around them
need to be ignored, and not let in through their door.
As if it will all just poof and go away.
BUT IT COMES IN ANYWAY.

Every day, the travesties make an appearance.
Every day, mental illness goes unnoticed,
as if the sick just need to be locked away.
Everyday, people struggle,
on the streets without food to eat,
in their homes, growing cold with no heat
because choices are suppressive,
and money don't grow on fucking trees.

Priorities, they say.
Work hard and pay your bills
while you listen to your babies cry
cause you simply have no time to play.
Hide and seek,
or a twelve hour shift to pay the heat?

Guns don’t kill people,
people kill people,
and we wonder why that is.
It is time to talk,
openly discuss that not everyone is the same,
and yet we are all the same.

We all have the exact same needs.
Water, air, food, love and attention.
We all want to feel comfortable
in our own skin without fear
of societal stigmata and outrage.

We all want to be with the ones we love,
and not be gunned down in the street
for the choices we make that harm no one.
We all want to be who we are,
or who we feel we are meant to be
without judgment and fear.
We all want to protect our children.

We all want to leave some mark on this world,
with variable size and significance.
No one wants to be invisible trash.
No one wants to be viewed as ash
on the sole of another’s feet.
We all want to be treated as people.

We love.
We mourn.
We breathe, eat, sleep and die.
We see each other
with our eyes, with our hands
skin on skin
we let each other in.

It is now time to try to make amends
With what we have, and have not done.
Who have we failed, and why?

Wearing every article of clothing
We pedaled through the
panicking streets at dusk.
The eyes and their glares were so strong
we thought for sure they could see.
Crooked little crosses everywhere.
And they stared.
They marched, on feet and in cars.
They searched for the
marks and the numbers.

We hid in our shirts and pants
with four pair of underwear beneath.
We pedaled.
We pedaled and we prayed
that no one would notice our clothes
or the looks on our faces
as we worried under the weight of war.

We had to be liars on tires
pedaling through the streets
of what was once our home.
Wearing every piece of our clothes,
I shoved my paper in my pants
and kept my laces tied.

Good God we had to make it.

The bumps in the cobblestone
were like mountains…
and the men in their coats
were like fountains
spewing threats of eternal damnation

          “Wear the mark!

           Wear the mark!”

   They shouted.

We tucked our heads down,
and rode,
and felt every inch of stone
as the perspiration rolled
down our backsides.
This was our lives on that dusky night,
using the shadows to hide us.
Using the darkened streets to guide us
To our game of hide and come find us.

Wearing every sock we owned,
we left our home
only to stay there in silence.

Take the time,
to make the time.
For in the end,
we are all just fertilizer
anyway.
Take the time
to make the time,
while oxygen still fills
our lungs,
and the moments we share
and the words we can still
speak thrive in fertilizing
each other's souls.
We will all grow old,
in moments passed
in memories compounded fast
and left unshared,
in words left adrift
touted on tongues
that end up feeding worms.
Take the time
to make the time
before we blink
and it has all travelled by.
Our bones will age,
and take our luggage,
our overnight totes
and notes of reminders
to have made plans one day,
they'll take it all
to the grave...
leaving only whispers in our
children's children's ears...
faded pictures of intimate
times when laughter
was a glue that held
everything together.
Take the time
to make the time
while we're all still here
and breathing.

    Green and turbulent, the wetness inched up over the embankment. With every millimeter gained, gills strained upward from their murky depths to witness the breach. Oh, the days had been counted!

    Scratched henpecks of tally marks encrusted with growth, forcibly held under, were tortured and void of air. But no longer! Disembodied voices bayed and screeched in a night drowned with wakes and hurled emotion. As daylight awakened, a little boy hollered out.

    "I caught a biggun Dad!"

    But the patent black shoes
on his hook, now, a mossy green, were too heavy to reel to shore. They were still attached to someone's feet.

Hallucinations boiled in her
veins as she watched the
dusty sands turn to
swirling mud.
Nothing to do 'cept count
the anxious ticks,
and the all encompassing tocks.
Time was moving forward
again...and it burned.
Little fingers tapped
on her backside,
something to do with
hunger, maybe thirst...
she wasn't sure.
Little taps grew into
bitter, scorned tugs
and they cursed her memory.
She was lost.