Thursday, November 1, 2018

Is there anybody in there?

I was going to write more and i have not. There is a certain kind of vulnerability to writing on the internet. I am never sure who see anything on here. I have to write for myself like no one is watching. Or I cannot write. 

Monday, October 8, 2018

Bullies 2


I mean thanks for thinking i am so cool but i really do not have the receipts for it. I am pretty unsure about all these connections i am suppose to have, social capital, i have not. You are also being super generous with the amount of privilege and actual power i have. I am a nobody who has been a cog in the wheel in the background for twenty years. I am nothing. Sans those few people who have seen me. But i do have the receipts for twenty years of dedicating my life to the work. I have mostly been un/underemployed and either houseless or living illegally most of that time while also dedicating large quantities of time to do activities and anarchist projects. I believed in anti-capitalism. I did not want for money nor a career. I was a radical. I was a riot grrl. I was Washington/PNW Queer and proud! I loved every minute of it. I still do.

At some point i started to notice most of the people i respect most bc of the work they had put into the world were working within the medical industrial complex. Their ability to bide their time against the microaggressions really allowed for them to influence policy which directly impacted people’s lives. Also their positions as gatekeepers helped others by easing the burden of these gates for marginalized individuals. So i plunged head first into the work.

This is after years of devoting myself to creating opportunities for queer and trans artists especially qtbipoc & folks with disabilities when no one else was doing this. I know that the foundation that i and others build was done so well that it was easy not to see how much work, how much blood, sweat and tears had to happen for the opportunities you are taking advantage of today to even exist. You did not see the struggles and fighting that happened to make room within organizations that have given you these opportunities. You turn a blind eye to those who sacrificed their job, their livelihood making this room.

When you step on the backs of native peoples that is colonization. I don’t care who you are, if you feel entitled to the time and resources of native people you are a colonizer. You are either in solidarity with aboriginals or you are colonizing us. You can pull that race to the bottom bullshit but it won’t fly because their is literally no one that has worse outcomes than natives. You can throw whatever words you want to around but it won’t change this fact. It won’t change what i have survived. It won’t take away the hours, the years i have spent dedicated to serving my community.

I have skin privilege, great. I do the best i can with it. Honestly though it is not like it negates or takes away who i am, my ancestry, the intergenerational trauma, the disparities. I can pretend to be someone i am not but it is draining. It literally causes mental and physical damage to the body. It is literally killing me. Yeah i get that colorism exists and people have all this and discrimination based on their skin. I have strong solidarity with my community. That is not the point i am making here. White passing or white adjacent, whatever the fuck that means, is not the same as being white and it helps no one to conflate the two. But since you brought up adjacent, lets talk about who i am actually adjacent to and you will see that my community is actually primarily queer and trans, black and indigenous people of color with disabilities and often sex workers and drug users and most have experienced extreme poverty and homelessness. SO not that i am insulted but it is just wrong. Maybe it is because i am autistic but incorrect terminology just annoys me.

Friday, September 28, 2018

people who are not autistic suck aka Bullies

Today being autistic sucks. It is like this deep layer between me and the rest of the world. 

In my head is a lot different shit that i have learned not to say because people do not want to hear the truth like:

I was on the street before you were born.
or
I have been tight with sex workers since before you were born much less sucking dick.
or
For all that shade you throwing at me, what the fuck have you done?
or
me? what have i done? when in the last year? in the last week? cuz you want to hear about all my years of awesome work i have put in it is going to take awhile.
or
My list of things i have done for my community is so long I cannot even fit it onto two pages and have to keep cutting stuff that isn't as cool. Literally, not at all being hyperbolic.
or
This, this project we are talking about right now. I have literally been working on it for like three years. THREE YEARS. You have been involved haphazardly for a few months. So don't talk to me about what i have done and not done. Yeah maybe i had to fucking suck a lot of institutional cock to get here. I do my due diligence for my community even if that means sucking nasty institutional cocks. If it saves lives then I am in. Why maybe because every day i question how i am still here and if i should just not be.

My new hashtag #WillSuckInstutionalCockForResearchFunding

The truth is people think autistic people are asshole and I guess we are. We don't try to be and rarely understand why people are mad. We speak truths and are confused why people are upset. People ask us questions and we answer take them literally then people fly off the hook. Or anything, I always take things literally and do not understand the subtext or that it really means something else. Like I recently got asked questions and I answered them honestly and was told that I was explaining my behavior. Like if you didn't want an expansion then why did you ask for one?? And they think autistic people are the ones who have got socialization issues, sheesh. They are the ones whose thoughts diverge from the words they say. I have lost several people this way and feel frustrated since i am always honest to a fault

I am always surprised by the assumptions people make about me.

Or like when people call me white as an insult to light skinned poc, for lack of a better category. It is just not correct. But also like sad that you cannot come up with anything better than the color of my skin to insult me with?? Like I know that i could tear people apart. I have the resume. I have that sardonicism. But I don't because really what is the point, it just escalates certain people and now I can see them clearly for what they are sooner. I think i was once like that feral. I would totally bite the hand that feeds me once in the probably not so distant past. In fact i have several times. I have for the mistreatment of myself and other marginalized folks. I have stood up for people despite whatever i have had to withstand as a result. I have lost jobs for talking to people nicer than this about their tresspasses. Someone used the word white adjacent and like i figured out what they were trying to say but like poc adjacent would actually be more accurate or even like qtpoc with disabilities and/or sex workers and/or drug users and usually all or a lot of those. I work in and for my community always and forever. I suppose i am white adjacent as well but not in a familia (biological family and chosen family) sort of way. But professionally, yes,  because you know what, most people who work in academia are white. So guess what I am totally using my white privilege to play white in academia and fight for space for my community at the table and that is literally what has consumed all my time for the last eight years. I left a relationship and married my work. Damned if you do and damned if you don't. Shamed if you do shamed if you don't.

 Being bullied has never really made sense to me but it felt bad and that was more of the issue. the words, words hurt, they hurt like hm all that anger and negative energy behind them. But they are still inaccurate or like they would call me a witch. I'd be like yeah so. I mean i was from a young age brewing concoctions of herbs to drink and flower soaked water to make one smell nice. I knew wild edible plants and to put milkweed on cuts. yada yada. But I also had a wart on my nose. They tried to freeze it off but instead it just kept growing. It was humiliating. If I had anywhere to go I had wished they would have let me have not went to school but there was nowhere for me to go, my mom could not take that much time off work, so i went to school. And they would just keep yelling at me even as i would shrug them off. I'd say just leave me alone, i don't even care but they would never stop. They called me all kinds of things. That kind of stuff is supposed to make you grow a harden shell but I could never make sense of it enough to do anything with it other than let it slowly eat away at my insides. Now i have serious autoimmunity and seizure disorder. I use to have seizures every time i had sex (when i was not dissociated & pretending to be heterosexual because I hated myself). I mean I still do. They are frightening and debilitating. I think it stimulates the area where my back injury keeps pinching a nerve or something. Somehow my body is the same as with all the other seizures, completely rigid and spamming in uncontrolable motions. One seizure, haha, i started slapping myself in the face. I was all alone and all I could think of was "quit hitting yourself" and somehow it brought a hint of laughter to a frightening experience. That was one of the worst and longest ones. Remember that was around the same time i disassociated and posted about killing myself on facebook. haha no? yeah me neither. (yah know, dissociation, haha. Bad crip joke, sorry.) I always wonder if my nonepileptic seizures are more or less disturbing than epileptic seizures. Is it easier to watch your body spaz out of control or black it all out.

The last uh sexual seizure, my partner at the time held me with such love and compassion. I wish I could have been more present then. I wonder what it could have grown into, how good it could have been. But i walk away, it is what i do. I've had two people ever break up with me. The last was a few years back, i had decided already pretty much decided but was too consumed with a long trip i was taking to feel like i was not rushing into a decision and she broke up with me on the way to the bus station. I think i said oh. ok. I was kind of happy because although we were in a poly relationship with establish boundaries that meant i could play while away, it still felt easier to not think about it as I hooked up that summer. The first time was a boy i date for a summer when i was 14, maybe... i get confused on dates. He moved away begged me to "stay with him" then called me one day out of the blue months later to break up with me. It did make me kind of sad but in a 'i had almost forgotten about you and never thought i would hear from you again but you were sweet' ways. We had bonded around being sexually molested and raped as adolescents but never had sex because his dick hung to his knees, literally. I mean he was at most 5'6" but yah know 'my spoons is too big' so i kept whatever concept of virginity was left. I just don't like people that close to me.

It is not just the bully either, it is the people who you thought were your friends. The ones you stood up for, fought for, doing nothing to defend your name. This is why i just don't fight for hardly anyone anymore. I ask myself why did i stand up for the person who is the bully, why did i allow myself to have compassion for this person who i knew at the first chance they could would slash me to pieces. Many days i am like fuck buddhism and this compassion bullshit.

I left home at 14 and was having a lot of issues. I technically was expelled because i stopped going. The vice principal (read bigot mormon somehow in charge of truancy) wouldn't let me just do the homework. I had moved in with a ho and drug dealer. One day he said to me, hey i just wanted to tell you, I use to be a ho but i gave it all up for you baby. It just came out of nowhere so i was like what and he said I am a street prostitute, a pleasure women for money but now i am only going to pleasure you. This is over twenty years ago so I am probably making him sounded slicker than he actually was. Mmm but we had fun for a while and did all kinds of drugs. I kept doing lots of drugs but mostly psychedelics. Then he kicked me out because i guess he got a better bitch..

I became a Nursing Assistant and injured my back had to get muscle relaxers from the street because i was in so much pain, finally got some from the doctor, wished i was enjoying them instead of it slightly numbing the overwhelming pain pulsating through my whole body. Moved to Spokane. Did mostly ok. Had to go back to physical therapy where i was sent to collection because they miss billed my insurance. $1000 in Spokane in 97 was a shit ton of money, at least 3-4 months rent. My first place was $265 for a two bedroom apartment in sketchy downtown. I dated a pretty cool irish guy with beautiful surfer length bright red hair for a while, we did a lot of drugs. I stopped shaving and cut my hair. Came out as gay for the second time. Kept fucking the ex-boyfriend. Kept trying to meet girls in Spokane WA. Never heard of it? yeah i am not surprised. He found a straight girlfriend who later blackmailed him for company theft. I laughed at him because he pulled a dick move transitioning between us and forgot i was his friend for a minute because cis men suck. SO i felt he got his just rewards.

But all that happened after the first time I almost became homeless, again, in Spokane. I guess I missed the first time up there before I moved in with my drug dealer boyfriend. I mean home, house such vague concepts. I watched a women's kids and cleaned her house. And I would pass out at friends places. Thankful never had to find shelter under a bridge so to speak. So in Spokane, I put my accumulated stuff in storage and lived in one of those pay by the week buildings. It was a trip. This women, she was so precious, she said i reminded her of her own and was always trying to take care of me. I will never forget her because you could tell this woman had a hard life. Anyone black in Spokane is pretty fucked. So close to super wingnut KKK folks. There was even this black dude who was part of their KKK crew. no shit. Felt so sorry for that guy. So I would always accept her super generous offers only because i knew it brought her so much joy every time i would. For years I kept this fork she gave me. She said everybody's got to have a fork. It had only four spokes, very plain but i cherished it for ten years. I never got the back from the abusive ex, sadly. Along with some other very sentimental pieces, some of my last attachments to material objects. But my ex never knew the power of a sacred object.

Oh but wait... i was to tell you about... wait, was it my street cred or was it all the work i have done for the community or both. Ugh do i really have to go through the next twenty years of on and off houselessness and blood sweat and tears i put into organizing. Some days I think about how if I had actually worked all that time, yah know participated in capitalism instead idiotically given away my time for free. If I would have thought better for myself then just being a cook and doing my passions like being an activist and making art. Fuck that pig at the restaurant in Spokane who told me my dream of becoming an artist and living in a loft in seattle would never come true and should try to get a man as soon as possible and need to be more pretty, more feminine. Or later i will tell you the story about when Lowes tried to send me home for being a women and my all male crew threaten to leave because we were day labor and had been working together for months and they knew i cared my own. We were the same people and he was the boss man.

 I could be the American Dream. We all can be the American Dream. (#sardonicism*2) But instead I chose to be an anarchist. 

So I ended up in Olympia and I tooks some mushrooms and then, not at the same time, i went to a Need show. Trust me the Need was plenty without the shroomies especially in that little playhouse in downtown Oly. There couldn't of been more than 20 of us there. And that was it, i was a convert to the hole-y religion of Queerdom. It took me about a year of sleep in a van then living illegally in a garage of a building before I felt more settled in this new life and started organizing again after Oly. 

And i am falling asleep so this bedtime story will have to continue tomorrow. 

  
















Sunday, September 23, 2018

PSA: anxious writer syndrome

I took down my last post for a moment. For a long time i have posted here for me not for the small sample of people who seem to still see and read my writings. Being autistic and just fucking weird sometimes i worry about how things come off to others. My expression of not understanding feeling intense sexuality towards someone might come off as lude or as the object of my affection might feel objectified and that is not my intention. So i got nervous and took down the post but then i put it back up bc i decided it was honest. i write to explore my thoughts and feelings and hope that those who read my writing might be struggling with similar thoughts and feelings. some times i do wish this was more of an interactive format and you all could tell me about your thoughts and feelings. I mean you can, the comment option is turned on, but no one seems to use it. It is kind of weird talking to the internet, like talking to myself, not truly knowing if it is relevant or interesting to anyone. In the end it doesn't really matter since this is really mostly for me. To push myself to write and put it out into the world. So that is what i am going to do. Starting in Oct I am going to push myself to write and post everyday. If you are reading this and want to join me, i'd love posts to wherever you are posting your writing. :) *Hint totally can do this anonymously.. ;)

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

words upon the page


I think I am going to move away from this platform for my blog.
It is just one more thing to log into and keep up. 

I've been writing but not posting.
Maybe I'll do one more challenge and then archive this.
More info soon.
For now, find me on social media through SmittyBuckler.com
Now on to the poetry

*words upon the page*


i saw you today. it was nice.

nice is such a boring word.

and sometimes boring is nice.
perfect.
but this was not nice as in boring or perfect.
this was nice as in
i do not know why i just keep thinking about you.

i just do not know.
it has been over a year.
we have not even really spoken.
i have had times of not thinking about you.
but lately
to be real
i just keep thinking about the last time
we were together
i am not even sure how it happened.
sliding my hand down your throat
until i saw you gag
the tears on the edge of your eyes

your soft wet cunt of a mouth
that i slowly fucked
with my hand

sliding in
and down
your throat
feeling your throat
swell around my hand
like a cervix
engulfing my cock 

fucking your face

nothing has come to this in terms of hot
lust

the first time we
when you dry humped my leg
and i came
so much wet
watching you
gyrate
and orgasm
from this
fully clothed
lust
desire
need

to rub sex
to rub sex all over
each other

seeing you
meant feeling all this again
so notice-ful
of you being there.
in space with me

two greysexuals
whom together are
firecrackers

i do not mean to come off shallow
i am not
this is something so much more than
shallow
this is
sex
and
it is 
hot
and 
fucking
beautiful

but
but
butt

i know it is my fault
i walked away
i also need you to understand
that i wasn’t coping then
i could not deal
i am truly sorry that this impacted you
it was never my intention to hurt anyone.

these are all the words
i would tell you
if you wanted to hear
since you do not
i am writing them here
where my heart has always laid
words upon the page

Thursday, January 18, 2018

trafficking svior complex short

This is a response to a discussion around trafficking incident in a Seattle homeless encampment which caused the encampment to get a sweep. I am uploading it in the hopes that it will be helpful to someone. -s

As I am not a trafficking survivor, I do not have much to add in terms of story but I would like to help facilitate this discussion. I am going to ramble for a moment. Also most of the perspective I have on trafficking has come from amazing activists in my life so I want to state where this knowledge base is coming from out of respect.

There is currently a framing of protecting this young woman who is believed to be trafficked during her time in the camp. I think it is also important to note that she returned to the camp after running away from UGM. Furthermore, living on the street is a very different culture than being housed. When you are on the street, protection usually comes in numbers and encampments. By removing encampments this actually puts vulnerable people in positions to be abused without the eyes of others around. We know that street sex workers are higher risk at being not only raped and beat but also more likely to be murdered. Furthermore, if this young woman was/is using drugs, removing her from people who might call the EMTs or have naloxone available is going to increase the likelihood of an overdose.

The anti-trafficking movement is not really about protecting vulnerable people as much as a methodology of control and oppression of already marginalized groups such as trans women, people of color and undocumented folks. We know this for a few reasons. One that anti-trafficking groups are rarely (if ever) trying to rescue those being trafficked for labor outside of sex work. Two the methodologies used are more about stopping behavior (usually based on misreading/mistranslation of the bible) then helping the person. Harm reduction methodology is one way that individuals and organizations can support those who are doing survival sex work without removing that person's ability to survive. A couple slogans that the sex worker community has are 'Rights Not Rescue' and pulled from the disability rights activism 'Nothing About Us Without Us.' In other words often anti-trafficking legislation and laws are used to take away the sex workers ability to provide income for themselves. This is done through various tactics such as what is called End Demand or the Nordic Model. (Article with Mary one of the SWOP sex workers activists we all work with.) This criminalizes the johns with the rhetoric that this is not criminalizing the sex worker. Another way this has been implemented recently is through backpages being taken down. The reality is that this means that the impact on the sex worker is to go to less safe methods of finding clients and often do less screening and do things for the clients that they might not have previously (such as give head without condoms or even use condoms at all.) This model of rescue not rights directly puts the sex workers people are supposedly trying to save in greater harms way.

From many of the sex workers and/or trafficking survivors that I know, I hear story after story of being excluded from discussions and legislation that directly impacts their health, safety and well-being. Sweeps are currently being done using organizations that are not utilizing harm reduction methodologies and do not work with any of the anti-violence, domestic/interpersonal violence, nor sex worker lead advocacy organizations. The sweeps are being done by (further) exploiting those who are possibly being exploited without taking into consideration the needs and wants of those they are labeling 'victims.' We know historically that no community has won rights and legal protection this way. The arguments come from logical fallacies such as the appeal to emotion. Seattle needs to stop for a moment, collectively take a deep breathe and think about what methodology is being used to make these decisions that impact the safety and lives of our most disenfranchised community members. We need to recenter the conversation on those being impacted. This is how we save people's lives. This is how we implement change and make our city truly a sanctuary city.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

witnessing

Those moments when a fit of panic
Trauma induced
Seizure

A spiritual orgasm
Of a rape victim

Pleasure mixes with intensive pain
The push pull that exists
Only in that moment
Mammalian
Over
Verse

Lies quaking
At the foot of the stair
Nothing left but the intense flood
Everything beating down
Ravaging your mind body and soul

This is nonconsensual
But you want it

You want the release of it being over
More than the dread of it rising

You want to walk away
Pretend that you are normal
That it won’t happen again

But there is the ever present dread of it rising
Again to take control of your body heart mind

Lisping fairytales in arms of strangers
Wine stained lips looking for loss

And the small young female
Continues to
Seizure orgasm panic attack
Below the window
Below the community
Below the sightpath
It is just you, me and your friend here
witnessing.

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Boys Don't Cry

This post is a comment I left on a social media post about a recent event at Reed. I have included links at the bottom with more information if you have not heard about this situation yet. Mostly this post is talking about the profound impact this movie had on me before I really started on this journey.

When this movie came out, it came to rural Washington where I saw it. It was the first time I saw a trans masculine person depicted, it was the first time I had seen rural queerness depicted, it was the first time I saw sexual violence of that nature depicted... wait let me cross that out and say it was the only time I have seen any of those things depicted. IN my mind I am thinking but surely there has been other movies with a main trans masc character.... surely there must be or a movie that coveys the way gender is in rural USA, surely there has been... surely there has been another movie where the actual sexual violence so many people I know have survived, surely there has to have been...

no? yeah you know I can't remember any either. I do know that day in rural washington at the theatre, I had to get up and leave in the middle of the movie, that day something broken inside of me in a good way. What broke was everything that had been telling me up to that point that everything that was happening to me and that kept happening to me was normal and that I was the problem. I saw myself on screen and for once I was the hero of the story, of what could have been my story. It saddens me to see a general lack of understanding for a time and place when it was literally easier to be a man than it was to be a butch lesbian. & that this is a place that still exists. ..I am seriously like oh poor rich kids who wear trans/gnb like prada... someone who is legitly wanting to talk about her movie doesn't want to be told she is a horrible person for her years of emotional labor and birth of a piece of art that doesn't align with their 2016 idealism.

I mean sure I agree that nontrans people should stop make art about trans people. But like seriously, in 2016 a cis het women thought it would be interesting to make an opera about trans people but wouldn't hire trans singers bc their voices arent right so instead she has a man and women singing at the same time to 'represent the dual nature of the trans experience' or some bs. This women is presenting this at the Seattle Opera and make a ton of money off of trans people and a predominate trans person here was promoting the show for her. This is way more of a problem but do they care??? Or how about all the cis het researchers who have made careers on the backs of trans people. Or how about the people who... I mean I could just go on and on about all the people who are seriously doing problematic things to our communities, who are not being called out. But some kids decide to bully someone in our community who did a very risky thing at the time and made a controversial piece of art.

...my favorite part is that it is a-ok not bc she is not trans enough but bc -she is old- bc that is not ageist at all. and it is also ok to hate on another trans masculine person who tries to stand up and write an educated piece on the subject bc yah know they are old too. Good thing all us old people built community around each other bc we at least have ourselves now. Glad we fought the good fight so that student who pay more for tuition then most of us have ever made in a year can yell at us for trying to do anything at all about the violence against our communities. I think I'll post about this on my blog so maybe someone can come along and tell me about how my writing about the patriarchy is so last year's fashion.

https://bullybloggers.wordpress.com/2016/12/07/hiding-the-tears-in-my-eyes-boys-dont-cry-a-legacy-by-jack-halberstam/

http://reason.com/blog/2016/12/09/leftist-students-shouted-fck-you-bitch-a

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Profound

i wanted to write something
profound
as today was a
profound
day

but the reality is that my body aches
i am ready to melt into that
bed
that i speak of so often now
a bed that is more a
home
than the four
walls
that surround me

more of a
home
than the stuff occupying the
space
between these four
walls

i spoke with a friend today
he asked me
what can i do to be more active
more involved in activism

i told him
do you
keep making space for
individuals
who can’t find space
in this world
in the rural
eastern washington
just as he had once done for me
we then spoke of me
moving
back there
to the rural
versus the
urban
i have inhabited for so long

my reasoning
is that i feel that i could
do
so much more work there
then here where i am
lost
in a sea of activism
my organizing skills
lost
in a sea of
egos

back to where
people fight a common enemy
bigotry
instead of fighting
one another

today i wanted to write something
profound
i wanted to be something
profound

so i set down my ego
in a world where your value is
based on how many
likes
your posts gets

i set down my ego
in a world where people
have forgotten
that many disenfranchised
are still
fighting
still fighting for their life

i set down my ego
in a world where people i care about
cut marks into their arms
to relieve the pain
and torment that is their
life

today above all
i set down my
ego
for the person
i use to be
for the girl child
who survived
eastern washington
for the tom boy
who found friends
in the abandoned
haunted
houses

i set down my ego
for the first time i let someone penetrate me
by choice

i set down my ego
for that man child
who was a ho and
had been beaten almost to death
in one of those
haunted houses
of my childhood
by the police
a falsy of safety

twenty years ago
i left
i did not want to look back
i did not want to remember

i survived
what more did the
world
want from me

my face temporarily immortalized
on the cover of  the gay news
my face forgotten after the
horrors
of abuse
from the one who was to love me
the most

my ideas, my thoughts, my soul
stolen
for other’s to
profit off

i lay down my ego
no
that is not right
i lay to rest
under thick dense soil
my ego
because
no one’s ego
ever saved a life
no one’s ego ever consoled a friend
when they spoke of having their face smashed in
when they spoke about having their sense of self crushed
when they spoke to the emotional and mental abuse
that almost took their lives

today we mourned
today we watched a country
ruled by an electoral college
choose bigotry
today we had to face
the face of america
and we were scared
we were angry
and we were righteous

but how many of us can say
we were humble
how many of us can say
we cared enough
we had enough strength
we had enough spirit
to dispose of our egos
to care about those in our community
with whom we are estranged

how many of us can say we
care
about the stranger on the street
the one with the drug addiction
the alcoholism
the pain that drives so deep
that it drowns us

care
in the way that burns into your soul
care
that makes you look deep into that person’s eyes
and admit you are helpless
admit that you cannot take away their pain
admit you cannot make their lives better
admit you are helpless
because that dollar in your pocket
it actually already belongs to someone else
admit that we all live on borrowed
time

egos don’t let people
care
like that
egos
fix
egos
blame
egos never
care

today we mourned
we looked for someone to blame
we looked for a solution to fix this problem
and there was no one
only ourselves
looking in the mirror