My heart is a protest that I let rally against my ribs.

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.

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.

My heart is a protest that I let rally against my ribs.

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

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