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Writer's pictureAmanda

Dreams

I sit in my room and I stare at the wall.


Now what.

To me, unprecedented magnitude.


I know I’m not wise

I’m not seasoned with age

I’m not a scholar

I’m running on history and what I know to be true


I read, hungry

Policy

And philosophy

and analyses

And I pray that I get this one right


But this one doesn’t feel right

And how can no one see that this isn’t right


And how are we here again

Not even a century later

How are we falling for “enemy within”

That banding together is synonymous with radicalism

and critique is now bias, unsolicited intellectualism 


What has happened to the dialectic?

God, help the dialectic

Rush this synthesis

Propel us to something more than this

Show me it’s just the pendulum swinging

Like we know it does


And they’re good people

Truly, they’re good people

I must believe that they’re good people

But fear is powerful

Fear enrages you, keeps you from feeling small


And I feel so small.


I’ve run to this corner

Tiny hooked corner

And it has followed me here.

It will always follow me here.


I call my dad

Mirror of the TV

Words

Words

Words


He is good.

I must believe he is good.


Slow down, Amanda

You’re too worried, Amanda

This is the revolution, Amanda

It will be beautiful again, Amanda


Words

Words

Words


If I had a daughter, I would name her Evangeline.

I don’t know if I’ll meet her.

I want to meet her.


I want her to see the world.

I want her to feel safe.

I want her to run on history and what she knows to be true.


Dad has a dream too, he says

He wants to take care of the family beagle.

She’s slowing down, he says

Maybe a few months left


And I’ll miss her, I say

And I love you, I say


And I hope despite of what brought us to this


And I hope with spite at what brought us to this

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