I glide out, causing hiccups to your stars . but I always come back

I'm where I'm supposed to be

Home notion, against your side

.

“Climate change is fake,”

You say.

“It’s just a theory.”

Oh?

Well,

A theory is backed by years of research,

Scientists guessing and

Gathering evidence.

But ignorance is a powerful,

Powerful thing,

Is it not?

“Greta is just a girl.

She has no place in politics.”

Ah yes,

The classic

Children Are Insignificant

Argument.

But often times,

As many parents will tell you,

Adults learn more from children

Than anyone else.

“The climate changing is a natural thing.

So what if it changes?

There’s no way to prove humans

Are destroying the Planet.”

I’m sorry,

Kind Sir,

But have you read the scientific journals?

Have you listened

To the scientists

Wholeheartedly

Backing Greta’s cries for help?

Your answer will be

No.

For ignorance is a powerful,

Powerful thing,

Is it not?

We kill each other,

We hate each other,

We mock each other

For our differences.

But tell me,

Does hatred change the world?

Does murder heal

And mend broken hearts?

Do bipartisan governments

Solve world hunger?

Do multi-billion dollar

Capitalist industries bring people together?

The answer is once again no,

A very large and

Resounding

No at that.

You say it is fake,

You support the raging,

Hateful,

Racist,

Sexist,

Prejudiced

Commander In Chief

Who denies logic

Because you want to.

Because change is horrifying.

Because the Old Ways

Fix everything,

Like they always have.

Isn’t that right?

But the Young Ones

Know.

The Young Ones know better.

They know better than to blindly follow

Propagandized government.

They know how to question,

They know in their Souls

What is right

And what is magnificently wrong.

It is so hard to

Believe

That so many refuse to

See

What is going on right before their eyes.

But,

Your Majesty,

So what if climate change is fake?

The worst thing to come of that

Will be to find renewable energy sources

So that we never

Fall into a

Mass Extinction

Again.

It is difficult to

Believe

The hatred flowing so freely from

The lips of the

Ignorant,

The Violent actions

Supported by those who refuse to

Open their eyes

And see.

For you

It is hard to

Believe

The Earth is dying,

And Her voice is fading away.

Her shoulders shake with Fear.

Her eyes well with tears,

Tears filled with the trash we’ve

Shoved into her.

The Earth pleads

And begs.

But you will not change,

You will not wake up.

You are old,

You don’t have to take care of

Our Earth for much longer.

When you are gone,

They will have to live,

Or merely survive,

With what you have left behind.

You will not change

Because as soon as you

Die,

You will be free of

Consequence.

But ignorance is a powerful,

Powerful thing,

Is it not?

I yearn till my heart is bruised and beating. My lips aching for the familar taste of summer nights. Of stars, of -— something that is sharp soft and all the far away.

Memories. Eyes, open, dark and piercing. Lips, smiling softly in the dark silence. I won’t let you go. Skin against skin, fire carving fury with scratched nails. A promise. Voices trapped in trembling fingers intertwining like threads. We are the only one left.

And Love, screeching & screaming love pouring from hearts pulling closer, closer.

(You.)

we left           ourselves

                      smoke lit, a

                      fiery borealis

                      blazed anew

                      indicia hue

                      inhaling night 

                      exhaling aurora

                      astral world bound

                      euphoric light found us 

                      all aglow in embers and ash

Screaming headlines erupted...

BREAKING news...massacre barrage of gunfire

wrought countless deaths

newly minted unknown

mass murderer suddenly infamous

speculation immediately

trumpeted hate crime targeted,

premeditated, calculated mass

murderous sprees, gunmen gloated gleefully

resultant mayhem throve

countless dead tally increased security details, police,

and emergency crews barked orders while

yellow crime tape cordoned mortally wounded

and seriously injured rushed into onsight

triage units as sirens blared

killer(s) coup shattered

tenuous complacency prior cautious optimism

hesitantly blinked awoke initial six months

two thousand nineteen

witnessed eerie calm before tabloid magazines

ripped pages incomplete bios

unleashed blitzkrieg bullets

rent asunder sanguine flickr

joyus kindled linkedin

outlook presaging quaint

good n plenti peace on Earth

good will to men/women

annihilated as bullets

besieged random innocent victims

giddily, indiscriminately, wantonly...

slain in cold blood

immediate conspirator theorists

gin up rumor mill

defend homicidal maniac

simultaneously don MAGA hats

invectives incurring anti racist

bigoted, capital one

demagogue googly eyed president

unsurprisingly witnesses

popularity uptick

"loose canon" Grinchy grin

hooligan prince smiles

Machiavellian ghost lauds

apprentice regarding 2020 candidacy

able, ready, and willing

promise furnishing arms to the teeth

for every man, woman, and child

as campaign slogan.

The plane ride was rough. Nine hours of rough air and boring movies. The same old tropes recycled over and over again. Man meets woman, they fall in love, have children and the children go to the youth center, then a tearful reunion eighteen years later where everything is all right and the couple is still living happily ever after. Kate rolled her eyes in disgust as the hospital staff took the newborn infant away. She knew they were just doing their jobs, but deep down, she hated them for taking away her child. Five minutes. She had held Matthew for a glorious five minutes. Then, he was ripped away from her by hospital staff in stuffy white robes telling her it was going to be ok and giving her pamphlets on how to cope with the pain. She had read through them. There was a section on depression. It was apparently "highly advised" by all doctors that mothers have a strong support system to deal with the loss of the infant.

Her friend Susie hadn't needed that. As soon as her child was gone, she was out, celebrating with her husband and getting ready to have another one. Some people had so many kids that they forgot about, and when it was time for them to come back, they didn't remember their names or that they even had them in the first place. Not her. She remembered Matthew. She had wanted more kids but she knew she couldn't deal with the pain of losing them again. She also knew that she couldn't put Carlos through that.

She remembered one night in particular where the pain of losing Matthew just hit her in full force. She was on the ground in seconds, crying her eyes out. Tears were streaming down her face and she was screaming like she was being stabbed. Because she was. Not literally, but metaphorically. Her heart was ripping itself in two and her insides were being massacred with the loss of Matthew. Carlos had come running into the living room and cradled her in his arms. She knew that night that she couldn't go through this again and she couldn't put Carlos through this again. Not because of anything he said but because of the pain she felt in her stomach and because when he was holding her, she felt his tears roll down her back. In all the years she had known him, she had never seen him cry, not before that moment, and definitely not after. But she never wanted to see him cry again.

The movie ended just as she predicted, with a tearful family reunion and a happily ever after. All these movies did was promote the government agenda. She had researched groups online dedicated to finding out what the government's plan was with separating children from birth, but she had never joined any of them. Once, she considered joining a group for bereaved parents but something inside of her told her that she could never draw comfort from them the way she could from Carlos. She spent many nights in his arms.

The day after her crying incident, she started her plan to take down the government. She plotted it in her head while she was sitting at her desk job as a sales clerk and told Carlos that same night over slightly overcooked pasta. He agreed to support her, and ever since that day, they had been secretly working to take down the government. Now she was on a plane with step one out of eleven complete, on her way to pick up her son. On the armrest next to her was Carlos' hand. she took it and squeezed it, and he squeezed back gently. Her heart soared with pride and joy and she smiled happily. She fell asleep to the thought of Matthew and how when she woke up, she would be one step closer to seeing his face.

A/N: Again please let me know what you think in the comments

If I could hold your addiction, a tangible darkness, I’d drop it from shaking hands to mouth-watering tongue and swallow it whole. Let it lay heavy in my throat. Too immense to slide down my gullet. I’d take your affliction. Wide-awake, fever dreams and swollen, insomnia eyes would be easier. My insides are more stone than yours. My heart, Medusa-stare hardened. More capable of caging that ache. Instead I wake wet. Not sure if I am drenched in your sweat or your tears. And I fall back to sleep, uneasy. Your words laying heavy. A humid whisper that never leaves. I’m not using. And when you say it. It means you just did. I’m not using. Because I just did. And everything is numb. But it’ll hurt again soon. But I’m not using. Starting tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can sleep in, because I won’t wake up screaming. I won’t wake up sobbing. I won’t wake up shaking. Because I’m not using. I swear I’m not using. And just stay tonight. I swear I’m not using. And the sun is just a little too bright today but I’m not using. I’m just tired. It was just a party. I’m not using. I know it was a hit and run, but if I stopped it’d be a whole, big thing, and I’m not using. And I didn’t mean to leave you at that house but I was in the basement, and I forgot you were waiting, and it was just one time. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be fine. And I’m sorry I stained your shirt again, but the blood will stop soon. I’m not using. And I know that you’re tired, but please, just one more night. Because tomorrow is the day. And tomorrow I won’t be using. I just can’t sleep. And please, just sit with me. Tomorrow. I’m not using. And I’ll pay you back after I turn this money around. I’m not using. And I’m just not happy. And it’s not you I swear. I love you. But could you just give me one night. Because I’m not using. Tomorrow I’m not using. But I’m just not happy tonight. It’s only because of me. It’s not because of you. It’s my dad and my ex and my job. And I just need to turn this money around, wait in the car. I’m not using. Just wait in the car. And I slept a few days ago. Don’t worry. I’m not using. Tonight was the last time. Because I’m not using. I’m not using. I’m not using. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Gimme that tray. Hold my square.

Chocolate brown eyes with their wide, penchant stare;

Full, soft lips accompanied by flecks of dried skin;

A smile so captivating it could shatter the earth,

A love so true it condemns the sky to bathe in crimson.

Silken black hair tumbling in free patterns;

Skin warm enough to thaw the pain of a lover;

Tender kisses existing to unite salt with the sea,

A love so true it could only end with the beckoning ferryman.

Heart wide enough to encompass the stars;

Mind sharp enough to cleave cliffs into chasms;

Hands skilled in silent song as they pluck out ancient melodies,

A love so true it endows pinions to an everlasting flight.

Girls against me,

guys against me,

teachers against me,

& you against me.

Everyone against me.

I’ll warn you before you decide to make a move:

Wave your white flag in the air, put your head down,

& utter the truth.

Aw, you can’t do that because you have everyone

drowning in ruth

for you.

Aw, you can’t do it because you’re too arrogant

to admit you’re wrong.

You’re too busy singing the song

of hypocricy.

One that sends everyone screaming, imploring for more.

You can’t do it.

And you won’t.

In that case,

I’ll have to enlist in some help.

I’d like you to meet

Karma.

No, she wouldn't like to listen

to your prose about how you hate me.

No, she wouldn't like to hear your backstory

about your past.

This will be your last

warning: admit that you are not the

asundered victim & you never were.

You're just a liar seeking attention

and affection.

From everyone.

No? You still rebuff?

That's okay.

Because Karama here

will teach you a lesson

you'll never forget.

It'll be there like an involuntary muscle:

it doesn't require a command from

the central body.

It just

works.

I wish that I could hold

All the love between us in my hands.

Every time you would look up from your book

And say “Listen to this…”

And read me a sentence or page or chapter

Because you loved it

Or didn’t understand it

Or were curious about my opinion,

And when I told you what I thought,

You would nod like I had just answered

A question that you had been born wondering.

Every hour we spent in the grass

Collecting dandelions and tying them into crowns.

Yours would inevitably fall apart

Because although your hands are good for many things,

Such as braiding hair

And hitting piano keys

And holding mine,

They are not very good for making dandelion crowns.

So I would put my own on top of your head

And you would smile like I had given you

A ring of pure golden sunlight.

Every night you came home late

And took ginger steps across the floorboards

That would inevitably creak despite your effort.

You would come into our room

Opening the door slowly

And feel your way to the closet

Where you would get undressed in the dark.

The next morning,

You would always ask if you woke me,

And I would always say no.

Every knowing glance,

Every shared umbrella,

Every “I will come with you,”

Even every tearful goodbye.

I would stuff these things in my pockets

And press them into books

And tape them to the ceiling so that they are the first thing I see when I wake up.

Then,

I would send some of them to you

In a nice little package

So that you could do the same.

But these things are not meant for touch

And so cannot be placed in droors

Or wrapped up and weighed and mailed to you.

Therefore,

I am giving you these words to tell you

That although we cannot hold such things

In our hands,

We must grasp them tightly

In our hearts.