How long I sit with the window open, the breeze laying cool fingers across my legs in ways I imagine ghosts would caress me. How long I ask myself questions of resistance, of anarchy, of peace, and of war. The window stays open, but only a crack, the air is less in this room when the window closes. This country has less air than it had before, the tightness of night reaching inwards with the wind’s fingers, more hands to grasp my throat in a choke hold of reality, the crushing weight of humanity’s grip on it’s own noose as heavy as the concrete shoes I dream of sewing for the totalitarian twats that know no boundaries.
This evening just leaves me awake, wishing I were younger, wishing the earth were younger, at the same time I grieve my youth I celebrate my age, the days counted backwards might balance the days ahead, but the tragedy of yesterday only arrives when you close your eyes, so I sit here in the dark with my eyes scrunched shut, purple and lime green and black, the night sky in the eye of the storm, the center of my own eyes and the third eye of the moon staring back at me.
It is time for bed, my mind screams slurs about sleep as I fret and fuss over the fight in the fortress of freedom. Who are these people that take the days away from children, the nights taken too, just as far as they can throw it, the words make no sound as they fall to the ground. Stomping out letters like fire in the woods, schools lay barren, paper a thing of days long past, am I living in an ancient scroll of doom, scrolling through feeds of starving souls, the paper crumbling and dry, brightly lit screens glow through the text of the constitution, rewritten in disappearing ink. Evil is powered by republican greed and liberal empathy, am I the immigrant you seek to hide along the railroads of historical shame?
