What do I do?
Thoughts muddled, crushed, and mixed.
Emotions—complex, powerful, subtle.
Unsettled, I sit here, betwixt
A cocktail of fear, anger, and trouble.
The urge to scream, to yell, to shout—
To tear the coming dark to pieces.
To hide, to cower, to check out,
And wonder if it’s me or the world that decreases.
What can I do? One man against a horde.
They say I’m not alone. Why, then, this lonely ache?
A man with a past, a will, and a keyboard—
Just me. The only one I know how to make.
I pray to a god I no longer believe in,
Hoping divinity might break through the noise.
But like my father, he’s always leavin’,
Maybe he’ll hear by accident, or in sleep lose poise.
What if the goons come knocking?
Will they come for me, my wife, my kids?
Or maybe I’m not Mexican enough for mocking—
Too white, perhaps, to suffer what hate forbids.
Maybe I’m just mistaken.
I can’t live in fear and malice.
Our futures wait to be retaken—
We armor up, fortify, resist the callous.
What have I to fear?
They are the ones afraid of me.
Their hatred makes it all too clear—
It's us they dread, our possibility.
We are the monsters under their beds.
We pull the covers back and rise.
What’s been said cannot be unsaid,
What’s been done cannot be disguised.
