Zombie Nation

I have met too many friends and foes that say they don’t care about politics.
They don’t care about equality, racism, mental illness, sexual harassment, and gun violence shrugging their shoulders
brushing off the uncomfortable, the taboo.
It’s not happening to me.
That’s the poor man’s excuse, cowardice is plain ugly.
Today’s injustices are petri dishes breeding hate and in your face ignorance.
Blatant blasphemy.
Everyone’s got an uneducated loud opinion, but no one’s hearing the narrative.
It’s not happening to me.
A reality star, whoremonger, women hater, greedy, immoral charlatan becomes President because you can’t stomach a strong and capable woman who may or may not have done some iffy political things.
I don’t get it.
Oh yeah, because…
It isn’t happening to me.
Please heed the words of Avicii,
“So wake me up when it’s all over
When I’m wiser and I’m older
All this time I was finding myself, and I didn’t know I was lost”
May he Rest In Peace, free from these fucked-up frenetic
days, where we bury our heads in smartphones and computer screens.
We cannot afford complacency, dear friends that I loved
and once respected.
So sad.
So sorry the divide is widening, and we can’t save this good earth.
From the Fortune 500’s millions mistakes, because of what?
Paper products, oil and grease, nukes, terrorists, rape, bit coin, disappearing values.
We leave our elders to rot silently in sterile rooms, their stories fading and slipping from the cracks on the walls covered with faded portraits, bittersweet reminders of better days.
The forgotten family.
Days when neighbors lived in familiar hoods where their children ran and played safe in the streets.
Free from guns, and worry.
It isn’t happening to me you murmur under breath.
Y’all live in big houses with fancy cars and no one around for miles.
Makes me mad and sorry.
I get it.
I was you.
Selfish, self-centered, indifferent, and wildly ignorant.
Yep, that was me.
I understand hatred and judgment; it’s easier than compassion but so goddamn exhausting.
Until it’s happening to you.
Until it’s all happening to you.
Happening so fast, the tears and travesty, persecution, loneliness, anger, fear, anxiety becomes the new normal.
Just got to get some…
It happened to me.
Wait, what?
Blindsided under a tin hat of 100 million jolts and shocking electricity.
My head blew up, not once, not twice but thrice.
So they tell me.
Shit happens.
I went a little crazy.
So what. Boo-hoo.
I don’t want or need your narrow-minded, narcissistic, self-indulged pity.
Hard knock life happened to me.
It’ll happen to you, too.
Choose your stripes bravely and with conviction.
Compassion and color and emotion and art and truth and raw poetry and a voice happened to me, how lucky.
Afforded precious minutes, hours and days, however temporary of respite and clarity.
I share my opinion.
You don’t have to agree.
Just listen.
I see things differently, friends and foes.
I’m blessed with changed DNA, fundamentally, cosmically and morally.
Shape shifted.
I never thought it would happen to me.
Walk a mile.
I’ve worn out the soles under my blistered feet.
Empathy reigns supreme.
Refusing to let me stay silent.
I’m tired.
I’m so tired.
Too tired to argue for brownie points, but I will fight for others.
The voiceless, the invisibles, the persecuted.
Sooner or later horseshit happens to you and you.
You’ll be asked to choose friend, or foe, to see things differently.
Life becomes less and less about the singular when you’re 103.
Thank God.
How boring, petty and ordinary life without a purpose would be.
It’s all happening anyway, to you and to me, choose your friends and enemies wisely.
Go into battle for honor and decency.
Grow a backbone.
Flip the script towards kindness.
Don’t wait to go mad to see clearly.

Photo Credit: Braj69 Flickr via Compfight cc

  1. “Sooner or later horseshit happens to you and you.
    You’ll be asked to choose friend, or foe, to see things differently.”

    Everyone learns this eventually. I hope some folks who haven’t dealt with the horseshit yet will read your poem and listen. Truth can be hard to swallow, but it’s easier when you know you’re not alone.

    Beautiful work, Jackie.

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