We did not have to gulp the color

in our surroundings.

Instead, we learned that the blue knew how to drink us.

We were swallowed whole by landscape and we

laughed in the belly of time that 

passed without courtesy. Everything 

close was already in our 

hands and everything far away

became our consuming color. If it was not

ours yet, blue was in it. 


looked at the blue and 


looked at the blue.

The whole time we looked at one another. 

Along the highway are billboards
that say:

“Abortion stops a beating heart.”

They show a line of peaks and valleys
ripping their way
across the allotted space
to end in a flatline

As if something so heavy
can be contained in a slogan
and sheets of paper

I see license plates that say:

“Choose life.”

Choice has been stamped
on to square pieces of metal
that tell us
our bodies are not
our own

We do not own them
like we do
the decisions
we make
with them

We own the one night stands
where plan A failed
and plan B
did too

We own the
shouted but ignored

We own presumed promiscuity
like a well loved coat
lined with insults
to keep us warm

We own selfishness
for being a willing participant
in the art of love

And I say:

Fuck your
your boxed ideas of right and wrong,
your guilt assigned
to our wombs

Fuck you
for telling us
our lives
are not an option
we should

we are all at war.

Incarnadine spills from innocent wounds 
paving highways of a grief stricken hell,
slowly altering Nature’s color palette 
to adjust to the grim gray of gravestones
untouched by time.

Earsplitting salvo of rockets crashing 
into concrete, 
drowning out the sound of prayers 
rising from the desperate lips of the world
still clinging onto the belief
that there ought to be
more to life than

Who do we surrender to?

The steps that lead to heaven’s portal 
are used as firewood to keep the corrupt warm 
while the people suffer.

We watch on as the tsunami of violence ensues:
prayer beads stilled mid-count, 
mouths agape we stare at this war
and think that we are safe 
because it is not
our war.

We are all at war;
every war is your war, 
is mine…

Who do we surrender to?