love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey

Jailbirds by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1983

---

I’m angry. I’m angry that the empire will only allow us two horrible options. Feed us to the wolves or to the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Wolves who do not care if we live or die, if the planet lives or dies, if our food is poisoned and our time is stolen. In fact, the wolves prefer it that way. The wolves are vampires too! And they want to suck us dry and suck the planet dry and then escape in their billion dollar spaceships, parasites looking for their next host while we rot on our beloved rock that they have set aflame.

I’m sad. I’m sad that babies are born into wars their parents never wanted to fight. I’m sad that they’ve convinced us the worst thing we can be is fat, poor, ugly and anything but white while they shove sugar down our gullets and rob us blind. While they extract oil from the good earth and clog the streams in our valleys and blood in our veins with coca cola bottles.

I’m frustrated. That my carpet causes cancer and my kitchen table causes cancer and the air I breathe causes cancer and we might as well be lab rats waiting to die in our cages because we don’t have the time to touch dirt and hug trees. Too busy making money to survive. Too busy filling in our smile lines. Too busy starving ourselves. Too busy gluing screens to our eyes.

I’m grateful. I’m grateful that I’m housed and that I’m loved. That my belly is full and that clean water runs through my pipes. That my worst affliction is my addiction to tv. That when the ship goes down, my lover and my Honey will go down with me.

I’m hopeful. Because I know my neighbors are looking out for me and I’m looking out for my neighbors. Because I’ve witnessed real life miracles. Because I know that endings are good friends with beginnings. And anger plus love plus hope plus pain is more than enough fuel to fight.

---