Words Fail

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

When is everyone going to realize

None of us are going to make it out of this alive.

We can resist

We can pretend

But it is as pointless as a dull knife

Driven into this rattling rib cage.

The only thing we have,

And the only thing that is certain,

Is that what we do with the time we have

Matters.

If not to the rest of the world

Than to ourselves. 

What a cruel mad world we must live in.

Where life isn't a right

But a privilege

Bestowed by others when it 

Suits their agenda.

A world where love is not a conquering force.

And where others willingly elect for hate to trump our humanity.

My faith in the good and the pure trampled 

In the massive stampede of greed, ignorance, and fear

That seems to run a muck more and more these days.

The world is a warped place

Full of distorted figures.

Full of fake people living fake lives 

Observing the world 

From their white patios

Through kaleidoscope lenses.

It's the feeling of running for miles

On and on

Until you lose feelings in your legs.

It's the illusion that you've kept running,

That you're still moving forward,

When you've taken two steps back.

People with faceless faces stroll by

Content in their obliviousness,

Because it's a privilege to not fret 

Over the loss of basic rights when it does not directly affect them.

Because the truth is no one will care until it is them falling.

They have created this pandemic of fear

That they are the ones who must worry.

That they are the ones in danger.

They have a superiority complex,

And their ego has gone too long without being stroked.

They've built themselves a pedestal

And wonder why no one stops to admire and praise.

How can they not see 

That none of us 

Are going to make it out of this alive?

What you do and what you say

Has consequences.

And we cannot make exceptions to our humanity

Without compromising it altogether.

We are not excused or forgotten.

We are responsible and every second becomes history.

And every single one of us

Participant

Or bystander

Will dictate the tale 

That future generations will read about.

And they will either be proud.

Or they shall stare down at us 

And this American Horror Story.

They will either cry at the horror.

Or they will laugh because of the joke we were 

And as fate dictates it, will always be.

This white castle was built upon 

The backs of slave labor

And on the sacred burial grounds

Of the indigenous people.

And the story will only continue

Of the contradiction of our ideals 

And the cruelty of our actions.

You may not be responsible for your ancestors

But you are responsible for yourself.

And I beg of you to look into the mirror.

Maybe you will realize,

Just as I have,

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.