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Trauma Woke Up and Chose Us
Maybe it was fate, but regardless blaming a God I hardly believed in was never a solution. We aimed for peace but they brought the war to us. The one time we tried to talk instead of fight they called us draft dodgers.
The weapons hardened us, hallways and politics that haunted us.
Disease, tragedy, and accidents that could’ve and should’ve been avoided if a single angel was paying close attention when they should’ve been.
Then upon closer inspection, we realized they always were, all along.
Few people we come across are born violent. It’s learned, and not through music and video games. It’s learned at home, in school, the streets, and as a means to finally try and relinquish some of the hurt. To finally get someone to see or listen, or something like it.
Because they pay attention to us when they put us in handcuffs.
Jail sentences proved effective means for creating communication we never had with family members, we never talked before and now we're scheduling visits and even sending our warmest correspondences through the mail. We’ve finally learned to put our pain into words and stop asking about the goddamn weather.
When you’re sucker punched without warning or warranted reason, you have two choices — Malcolm or Martin. Ignore or engage…
