We dance. Around emotion, obstacle, spectacle & importance. We dance around acknowledgement. To consistently find ourselves in the waltzing twist of such a rhythmless ballad is to realize why the pocket is never something we fear being too large for. Since infinite universes have taught themselves to be confined within ten-inch squares, newly ripped seams ought not be met with vexation. I cried last Wednesday, rolling myself into a descent of sickness only to find impotent novocaine at the bottom of the hill. It wasn’t perChance that Jesus’ Black life ain’t matter. I can only be so holy for so long; see in these words I write the tears that fell e'en further. It was only two minutes after, in the wake of a torrent beneath my brow, that I remembered my ears. I remembered because I found myself dancing again. Moving to the song of reasons why we matter. Arching my back to the subdivisions in injustice. Crouching as I wondered, will I be next? And if I am, will I have done enough by then? I pray I won’t be another hashtag. My hope is for busyness to be outweighed by purpose. May we cease to blend in. May we cease to be ignored. May our dance be revered. May this sun set on the final injustice. May we one day soon achieve Zero Problems.
P.S.: Thanks Neil Degrasse Tyson, for helping us remember just how special a sunset can be.