Sometimes I’ll trade these people for trees
And gravel for dirt beneath my feet
Trade standing in line for wading in ponds
And give up conversations to listen to bird songs.
I can hear the movement of the unknown in the distance.
The stars here glow a little different,
With more purpose.
Red is the blood that drips from tortured black bodies and their tormented souls.
White is the privelage and peaceful state of mind.
Blue collar workers discovered power they’re not all responsible enough for.
This is the American flag I’ve pledged my allegiance to all these years.
“They call it the American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it” – George Carlin
The first 60 seconds are peaceful.
Birds sing their song with such carelessness.
The slight breeze calms me.
I allow my eyes to close as I withdraw from the busyness.
The second 60 seconds brings unease.
The noise I hear envelops me.
The breaths I take no longer steady.
I’ve successfully panicked for no clear reason.