"And I Think To Myself, What A Wonderful World"

Do you ever just
look out your window
and think
"Well now.
Isn't that
beautiful."

And last night you were crying
because the world was falling to pieces
before your eyes.
And the pain was
incapacitating
And the fear was
insurmountable

And you might be amazed that
despite all that
the world is so glorious today
until you realize
it's "because of" not "despite".

Because
figure skaters still skate
the world is beautiful
Because
the trees still bend in the wind
the world is delightful
Because
Thanksgiving will still come no matter what
the world is hopeful
Because
fairytales and pixie dust live in us
the world is magical

But

Because
people kill people
the world is prayerful
Because
bullies attack the innocent
the world is merciful
Because
fear haunts our nights
our mornings are praiseful

We only get the chance to be
strong
merciful
forgiving
loving
Because somebody was first
violent
cruel
bitter
hateful

We only get a chance to do good
When something goes bad

Because
God is Love
the world is perfect.

What a wonderful world.

I Fight My Battles On Paper: Battleground 1

My Struggle: the humanity of a person is not reflected in intelligence (or lack thereof).
The mind is certainly
connected to the soul
but not
the soul
itself.

Even when people think differently than I do, 
they're still people.
And that's the beautiful thing about humanity, I guess.
It's not defined by a certain
ideology
belief system
thought pattern
philosophy

What even is a person?
What is humanity?

If souls are not their thoughts,
what are they?
And of course I don't know
but if I had to dare a guess,
I'd say it has something to do with that one

intangibly tangible,

universally personal,

boundlessly infinitesimal,

impossibly possible,

forever timeless,

meekly almighty

strand of infinity—

or maybe really just infinity itself—

that we call

love.

To Live For Pixie Dust

When I get
depressed
terrified
agonized
horrified
by things I see on the internet
I go back to the GIF of Wendy getting pixie dust sprinkled on her for the first time
And I just stare at it
While it plays
Over
And over
And over
And then there comes a time
When something has hardened in my soul
And something has softened in my heart
And I remember
That there is magic in this world
And it is worth fighting for.
It is called
LOVE.

The Double War of Our Times

I bow my head and try to pray
God, save these broken people. . .
This is how I usually start prayers for my enemies.
But the harder I think, the more I doubt:
Are they even people?
What are they?
I see them as robots.
I see them as animals.
I see them as nothings.
I see them as anything but people.

And it's not because I don't want to believe humans are capable of what they have done.
I know it's true.
I know the depravity, 
The brokenness,
The really-just-totally-messed-up-ness of the human person.
Deep down, I know they need saving.
I know I need to love them.
 

But I don't see their daily struggles.
I don't see them exhausted after walking up the stairs to their dorms every day.
I don't see them staring blankly at their computers and trying to will themselves to start their history papers.
I don't see them crying into their teddy bears at night when they think about everything they miss.
I don't see them laughing with their sisters, thinking about their cousins, saying goodnight to their parents.
I don't see the
ballet dancers
chess players
broadway actors
novelists
banana eaters
star gazers
soccer players
poets
adventure lovers
rock collectors
figure skaters
dreamers
lovers
believers
in them.
I don't see me in them.

God, show me their humanity.

Show me that there is a something within that rough and violent shell.
Show me that they were born the same way I was and will come to the same end I do (from dust to dust).
Show me my love won't be wasted on them.
Show me they're worth fighting for.

The ones we must fight against, we must also fight for.
Love is a war.
Please, God,
let
me
pray.

The dreamers, 
the lovers, 
the believers, 
this is how we must live.
We fight against them, 
and we fight ourselves for them.
Our lives are a double war.

God, give us strength.

"O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

This. 

This is why you mustn't go screaming 

and raging into battle. 

The opponent's already broken.

You must go gently.

We thought it was battlecries, 

when all along they were just 

screaming "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

Those were cries for help.

They didn't need someone 

to rage against them, 

they needed someone to

hold their hand

split their load

tilt their chins back up.

And there we were, 

with axes and spears, 

beating them over the head 

with the guilt that had already broken them.

So this is how they see us.

Certainly, you must fight. 

But you fight for them,

not against them. 

Know the enemy. 

Know that it's not them.

Because they think you are.

Because look what we've done.

No wonder.