condemn war but 

venerate the heroes it 

produces— is this why, 

​

then, we fight for our 

lives every day to be 

seen through the smog 

​

and shame those who 

are caught in the thick of it?

we teach 

​

our children to be brave 

and strong over kind and 

beautiful. maybe this is why 

​

i try so hard to be 

hard as a diamond in a bulletproof

case, i want to be wild like a 

​

joyride cutting through the night i

slept through. i want my punch to

boil the water around it, 

​

lightning-hot, bringing down

the sun upon 

no one. what if 

​

with a secret on my chest 

we drive to the east side of town

and build walls with small truths for 

​

mortar, towers of them 

where our good words can drink

light, work hard, and 

​

speak easy on the 

mind like a golden hour

in its last moments. 

​

tonight we sweat in the 

heat of reclaimed power— not

an explosion, but a swailing 

​

where the fire turns sweet

and melts the ground 

into a looking glass: 

​

soft eyes, rogue mind 

shaping carbon and 

melting its chains