The Closest Thing to Hope
There is one thing
Today is beyond words. We are fated not jut with a man too monstrous to be called by such a title, but also to those around us shocked that they may have enabled his success.
But there is one thing.
We feel fear, rightfully so, as doom will come and the only ones sure to be protected are those that had voting rights two centuries ago.
But there is one thing.
History would dictate that we will face “only” four years of agony, but we are faced with the soulless eyes of a wannabe dictator, which even history must begrudge.
But there is one thing.
Amidst the anger and danger, the calculated loss for logic, the deliberate quaver to our stability, the significant sense of senselessness and insignificance,
There is one thing.
Not hope, for that can flutter away, that thing with feathers,
Not tenacity, for not even the largest can of spinach could not fortify us to the unknown,
Nor sheer will, since our willed safety could be sheered from us.
The one thing that remains is the innate fight to survive.
Those of us with bodies that attack us, those who have been shunned by a society that still relies upon their labor, those who seek asylum in a place not touching upon safety, all know,
This one thing.
There is a force within us strides ahead and that drags us along with it.
And when our lives are in peril, that force grows stronger.
That is the thing.
It gives us art we never would have made, courage we never knew we had, a voice when we felt silenced.
Our very core, as fierce as the Earth’s itself, armored in molten lava,
Thrives under these constraints.
The harder he pushes for the pressures to crush us, will serve only to turn us to diamond.
And we, as bright as the sun and as sharp as glass,
Will survive.
That one thing, the innate and undying fight to live freely
Has come out of hibernation once again.
And the more that we are to endure, the more we will fearfully, tearfully, and forcibly face,
The stronger will be the primal urge to face it head on.
This is not the end.
It is our beginning.
There will be a harmony of outcry, a barricade made of art, mosaics formed with our own shattered pieces, and watercolors painted with our sweat and tears.
That is the thing that will always survive,
Bringing with it art that will outlive us, and create the change we crave and deserve.
And if not for us, for those who will benefit from our fight against plight.
Feel your feelings, seek whatever shelter and comfort can, but remember.
There is one thing you will never lose.
Your stubborn and beautiful right to survive.
