Healing a Divided Country

Oh, how I long for a country made from thread and needle.

The precocious balance between tight and airy one that can

amended with a simple stich.

Instead, we are a country in shambles, crawling our way back to shore.

A woven country would have birds and crimson leaves sharing

their homes in unity, as we, the creatures, set er so daintily

upon this earth, would play in one large symphony.

Our hands would be sewn together with no cracks in between

for discrimination to occur.

Instead, our leaves are shriveled and trees burnt to a crisp.

Our country is a shattered porcelain glass waiting to be

fixed by vaccines and a new president elect.

Workers are scrambling, like busy bees wearing masks to

create a nation like that of thread and needle.

They need our help.

The need us to turn off our lights and walk to school so that

the ocean waves can meet a blue-eyed horizon instead of a

tide full of garbage and a gray and moody sky.

Look outside and see smoke in the cascades,

and lifeless green bodies strewn with their stumps revealed naked.

Our country is cold.

Each inhabitant is born with distinction,

yet leaves with no such idiosyncrasy.

We are famished,

despite the slaughtered lives sitting on our dinner table.

We can be fixed, though.

There is hope.

Gather our children,

and place them at the forefront of our nation,

for they are our future.

Guide them in picking up our shards of love and equality,

and blunt the edges.

Health them back into place,

until they line up to that of a country made from thread and needle.

Please stand together, rather than apart.

Think with your mind, but also your heart.

Please listen closely to those in pain.

Use your voice, but also your brain.

Please remember to spread the word.

Again, and again until your voice is heard.

Please sign petitions, fight for reform.

Help stop the rain before the storm.

Please come in peace, but do not give up the fight.

Many of us know what is just and right.

Please pray and pray for our nation to heal,

Pay closer attention to how people feel.

Please remind yourself why you have a voice,

You can help or hurt; it is your choice.

Deep in the woods
In the center no less
Two trees grow
Surrounded by rich soil
Blessed with warm air
And nourished with bountiful rain
The forest watched as they bloomed
And noted a pattern
When one grew a little taller than the other
The other would do twice as much
They fought over whose branches were the nicest
Whose trunk was the sturdiest
Whose roots were the longest
The forest watched
As the trees argued on
One day the two trees were so big they could hardly stand
The forest watched as they fought
The soil beneath them grew tired of the bickering
So it dried up, taking the life it gave with it
The tree argued on
The rain became sour
And fell everywhere but where the two trees grew
The air became cold
And was gentle everywhere but where the two trees grew
The trees didn’t notice
And they argued on
The forest watched as the trees fell down
Their beautiful branches falling to the ground
It watched as their bodies decayed to the earth
And the arguing stopped
The forest hoped that when spring came
And new saplings awoke
That they would be kinder
And listen to the warning of those who came before them
The story of
The Two Trees

If the skin I crawled into this morning made more of a difference then it might have yesterday
Id hang it up to dry
And crown it with the finest jewels
And scent it with fine perfumes
And say
“What nice skin this is”
To walk around in and be recognized by
But understandably i cannot recognize things such as these myself
For it is my skin
And mine alone
Just as yours is yours
If the skin I crawled into this morning was the same color
The same denomination
The same sex
As yours may be
How would the air taste to me on the days I choose to wake
Bitter on days that end with y
Sweet in the seconds i fall back asleep
Because in our dreams we are not our skin
The world faces a locked door when we dream
Time freezes and all the earth stands still
And calm
And colorful
And in my dreams I see no violence
Not because I choose to
But because she is not there
Wreaking havoc upon me
In my dreams
If the skin I crawled into this morning was yours and not mine
How scary the world might seem