There are always going to be those things in this world that prove it a horrific and desolate place to reside; there are no more or less now than there have ever been. The question to be begged is, what is anyone really to do? What power does the individual have in this world to make any kind of change? I know that I, at least, do not have the money, the muscle, or the influence to create any kind of meaningful shock to the system.
I do have my words, I have a hand to reach out to others, I have hope and love and curiosity and kindness and a million other actions, each their own kind of rebellion- and though I am not afraid to turn my fight into something that is ugly, I refuse to lead that way.
Each of these acts of creation is a small but beautiful act of rebellion, and while a poem is never the end of a fight, it has that unique ability to keep us in it.
