stark contrast to the image of a lone flower in a field of manure, the illusion of necessity and caring. stolen oxygen, replacing it with smoke. stolen dreams, exposed monstruosity.
in the wake of terror, i hold on to the image of your arms cut like a dish of ratatouille, which somehow brings peace as it humanizes unfathomable pain. you, as an encarnate expression of human suffering, compelled me, as to give in all i had, to believe i could never want anything else, to paint a picture of my future i could never want.
you, as a tangible representation of my conceived notion of perfection, made me endlessly numb to what reality could mean. i hold on to the image of your hands as you showed yourself vulnerable to me, while reminding myself i was never the one you held closest. what hurts the most is not the loss but the realisation that you never gave your time as i gave mine.
stark contrast to the image of a lone flower in a field of manure, you're but a clever squirrel trying to survive in a forest of predators, who believed i could never warrant your time because i was ever but a meaningless, harmless, defenseless rat.
we have the right to hear the screams. we have the right to feel their agony. we have the right to stare at the horror on the faces of dead children. we have the right to face the grief on the faces of dead mothers. we have the right to call them fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers, daughters, sons and cousins because we have the ability to recognize a family in all the scattered limbs scattered over debris. we have the right to feel relieved for the privilege of being alive. we have the right to sob and smile for the people who can't, because they don't exist anymore and never will again. they had the right to live. we have the duty to not avert our eyes. we have the duty to care.
fuck israel,
fuck your wars,
fuck your ignorance.
i will not stand silent,
or accept your violence,
i reject your ways,
i reject your compliance,
i reject your cumplicity,
i will not stand silenced.