if i’d

if i’d been reacting in an age-appropriate manner to destruction all my life, maybe i’d know how to feel now.

if i’d been honest voicing my frustration with destruction all my life, maybe i’d know how to speak now.

but maybe i can learn. but maybe i don’t have to.

i can only feel what rocks my boat. i can only speak of what i know. i know corruption. i know injustice. i know tears. i know frustration. but when they come packaged in a wrapping i’ve never seen, i’m silent.

katrina is a foreign wrapping. i look at her and have minimal emotions. but i look at what she’s unearthed and i stare as a million thoughts run without order through my veins, the thoughts that have kept my blood running, have kept my hands writing.

why must it take us so long to love each other? why do we choose to fight instead of to love?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s