June 15, 2020

Broken—A Poem on Oppression, Racism & Heartbreak.

“There is one way of breathing that is shameful and constricted. Then, there’s another way: a breath of love that takes you all the way to infinity.” ~ Rumi


Broken {Poem}

No words.
Only tears.
Blind rage burning like so many fires.

Taking up arms to fight an invisible enemy.

Who is the enemy?

Accusations fly like a swarm of locusts.
Pointing fingers.
Us and them.

Who is “us?”
Who is “them?”

Fight against!

All words of warfare.
Same angry faces.
World War III has begun.


Isolated—within our own minds.
A terrifying hell for some.
A sanctuary for others.

Uncontrollable tears as my heart aches.
So much suffering at the hands of each other…
from our own minds.

Moving like zombies,
trying to get back to “normal.”

What is this normal you speak of?

Rampant greed?
Keeping busy to distract us from the screaming?

The Earth screams.
The trees, the oceans, the sky,
All sentient beings…screaming.

We’ve become deaf,
as we cling to the silence.
The screaming too much to bear.

We’ve become blind,
As we cling to the darkness.
Too painful to see.

I have no words of comfort.
I have nothing to offer.
Nothing changes as I weep.

I retreat back into the distraction of busy-ness
I pretend I am not scared.
I pretend I am not running away from the truth.
I pretend I know what is true and what is false.

I built foundations rooted into the earth.
But there is no ground.
Nothing stays the same, yet I cling to same-ness.
Everything in transition.

Where are we going?


I am suffocating in this global rage.
This seemingly endless struggle against hate.

Am I alone in this?

It seems we are all gasping for air.
We are triggered as we watch a man begging to breathe.
We can’t breathe either.
There is a knee on everyone’s throat.

Shut up.
Stay home.
Be afraid.
Do as you’re told.
No sovereignty over our own bodies…
our own lives.

“They” know what is best for “us.”

Be good and follow the rules.
Work harder.
Think less.
Dumb it down with chemicals and denial.
Don’t ask questions.
Drink the Kool-Aid.

We are all in this together?
As puppets in a puppet show?
Who are the puppet masters?

I tell myself,
I am free to choose.

Love or hate?
Anger or forgiveness?
Sadness or joy?
Peace or chaos?
Light or darkness?

Perhaps I’ll lie down and take a rest here in the middle.
I am tired.
I cannot change the world.
I can only change my mind.

~ Jana Joy


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