California burns, and I, too, am on fire.
Sea levels rise, and I am sinking.
Volcanoes erupt, and I am sliding down, molten lava burning, burning.
My head, a hurricane, all chaos and disconnection.
Pelting thoughts and torrents of rain.
Tornadoes rip through, and so, too, does my anger, my frustration, by whipping, maelstrom wind.
I feel the winds of change within.
I am tired, just like you.
The invisible enemy haunts and taunts.
It has taken my freedom; it holds me hostage.
And so I wait, just like you.
You see my eyes, but do you see my tears?
All my forgotten years?
The ones I took for granted?
They are there, swimming in the sludge of silence.
I rip off my mask, for a moment, in my car.
I breathe and breathe; I haven’t forgotten how to breathe.
I breathe for all the breaths that have been taken, forsaken.
Too soon, for nothing, for doing nothing but being.
I breathe for all voices shaking, the ones currently quaking,
the voices that will be heard, if we have the last word.
Something must give.
It is me—I will give.
I hold in my hands, precariously, as do you, a glacier melting, a changing world.
On my back I lug around, as do you, one big, fat day in November.
An unassuming Tuesday.
A Tuesday reserved for tacos, and goodbyes.
“Don’t question why she needs to be so free
She’ll tell you it’s the only way to be
She just can’t be chained
To a life where nothing’s gained,
and everything’s lost, at such a cost.” ~ The Rolling Stones
I am a river, rushing with rage, pushing, flooding, falling.
I am but a blister in the sun; I am a room with a view.
I am free for now, but for how long?
The summit beckons.
My life, your life, mere spiraling seasons, mere sedimentary rocks in time.
Like the ocean, I swell and crash.
Who will remember?
Who will take a stand?
As California burns, I, too, am on fire.
But I will use my fire for good.