When the Soul Strikes Twelve

I’ve been in a contentious, selfish mood lately that I can’t shake. I want to rail against some unknown force, press forcefully on solid walls until they give completely. I want to immerse myself in a battle of wills with anyone that raises hairs on the back of my neck. I am finally recognizing the awesome, unrelenting power of the soul: to embrace another wholly without judgement or lunge with an effortless grace and unforgiving aim at prejudice and foolery. I do not wish to maim intentionally, but I subconsciously pity those that wallow in ignorance and claim it as a sound political position or an inalienable, human right. How terrible am I for thinking in such a manner? Why did you write my voice into the constitution, but now turn my words on end when they don’t speak on your behalf? Venus rose for me, so why can’t you? Why do you spout universal peace, love and harmony as a means to an end when your actions speak of lesser and more divisive goals? You leave me wanting, deserving more. And what of this discord that still rages within me? I can’t will it away. And the quiet rests in between are just that…rests. Action! Action! Action! The wheels are turning once again. And this time, they are for me. Not as an American. Not as a Black. Not as a Woman. But for my Soul in all it’s selfish, torrential glory. It will not embrace you yet. But there is hope. For you. And me.


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