I don't want to turn any of this into poetry / but / you're so beautiful / flowers turn their heads to smell you

You, me, this city, this country, we will always have a choice.When you stand up to be counted, tell the world, THIS IS MY VOICE. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

But we are more than genteel or civilized/ we are an idea in the process of being realized.

I have loved this life. I smile because I have tiny dreams that play hopscotch at the corners of my mouth. And every time I breathe they float, every time I laugh, they fly kites.

Scrape the grey sky clean. Realize every grey cloud is a smoke screen to blind us from the truth, and the truth is whether we see them or not the sun and moon are still there, and always there is light.

A question like “do you love me?” was an itch our doctors told us not to scratch.

Look directly into every mirror. Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story, and our story starts: We were here.