at the rally they talk about consequence and there is still faith in the belief that truth will triumph. the people fill the streets and shout in anger for the children we are killing with our taxes while we sleep. onlookers stare confused from the sidewalk. a child blocks her ears in the footsteps of her parents to the shops. we chant our way back to where we started and disperse until next time. tomorrow we will wake to more of the same: what was once outrageous is expected, and we carry on to work and sleep between the strikes and screams we have the choice to hear. I tune in when I can muster space and time for more than diseased thinking and myself. the bombs will rain regardless.
the train runs late. I stand with strangers on the platform under the city we share in common. we look at our phones and the billboards across the tracks. they’re selling holidays and smiles and ways to pay for them later. I scan the wall for answers and there is nothing I can buy to fuel the change I need. the tools are hiding somewhere but I am tired. every day weighs heavy with excuses and a weary helplessness within the world and my own skin. we make sense when we can between the dreams and how things are. I work to wake in the same bed and do it all again.
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