SAN BERNARDINO (and others) 12/2/15
another town over and it's all just the same.
bullets are flying and blood washes over their names.
suspects are run down by parades of officials.
2 dead, one left - a boy crying wolf might furnish a pistol.
automatic weapons erase a few siblings and daddy won’t be home tonight.
vessels for good overflowing with dissonance.
guns vomiting what we’ve eaten.
our sensibilities raped.
images burned into our neural pathways.
News as reality TV, we hang on every minute as people are eliminated from the show.
Where is God though?
We are eliminated on the news on the bachelor on game shows too. Entertainment.
Modern Gladiators. Gas Chambers. Hunger Games.
Killer turns the gun on himself after extinguishing lives that matter.
Newspaper displayed his face.
Everyone knew his name.
When do we realize that this is the glue?
Stop broadcasting the killings. Don’t tell me who did it.
Name only the victims on the front page.
No mention of the killers how or why they came.
Stop showing YouTube videos of what they said before they died, uplifting this loneliness we’re all dying inside.
Sick in our souls, Each is an Other.
I’m nobody’s brother.
human drops of the universe abusing evolutionary traits, those acquired to assist us in loving have splintered and may seal our fate.
neglecting our critical relationship to stand on our own and get the most toys, stealing girls from their purpose and painting six packs on boys. We are artistic and loving, courageous and brave we need to ‘see’ each other’s souls not ride in Escalades. we are starving for connection but don’t recognize the ache so we’re reaching out for anything and afraid to let you in.
nothing will be enough until we feed that which starves the most.
we want to love each other but were taught not to.
the self-loathing that results from disobeying my own instinct to love becomes hate toward you.
blame works that way.
When I, any I, hurts inside, I blame you. It’s easier.
A gun hurts more than a finger when it is pointed at you.
I’ll acquire your approval at any cost, I’ll have decorative pillows but inside feel horribly lost.
I turn my pain on others with a gun that was easy to get.
It means nothing more than screaming.
Shooting a gun is an extension of my rage, a tool that you take seriously.
When you fail
To see me.
the gun could have been a tennis racket or a baseball bat or a kite
guns are most popular
I see them in movies and games and ads all the time
They are the championship ring of my neighborhood
and I wanted to wear it for once
Nobody was home to show me any other way to hurt
The true tragedy is our inability to see what is happening
Everyone desires to connect but we refuse to encourage it.
I’ve spent my life being perceived as someone who hates a brown man.
And I’m not. And I’ve never been. And I love. And you won’t let me.
You won’t see me.
You won’t hear me.
I hate, but only the role that you’ve imposed on me. I wanted to love but my gun is all you will hear. My heart is broken and you call me a faggot for showing tears. My brother is oppressed and you ask me why should I care and I get confused but want you to love me.
So I feel hate. But it’s not at brown people or at myself. It’s for all that I cannot see that forbids me to become a loving me.
The house we have is beautiful but it echoes when I’m alone
I know you think I’m ungrateful
but I really just wish you were home.
Now you will never be again.
I’ll make my own family so I have someone to love.
Except that I don’t know how to.
When I ‘m gone and they are searching to see what their dad was a bout
Someone will tell them I used a gun once.
It will become my child’s connection to me.
To the madness.
To your inability to see
It’s time to start the show about positive stories.
We’re dying inside and everyone is forgetting how amazing we are.*