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We Are Your Future. 

It is hard for me to fall asleep tonight, and I think it’s hard for you too. Because what about my future? And what about yours too? What if we stay? But what if we go? If we end up leaving our marks, where will they show? 

This generation, my generation, we know something nobody else knows. We know that life is what we make of it, hard work, brains and heart are our tickets to go. We believe something can change, because we changed our selves, because we are no longer afraid. We feel things nobody else does too. Our emotion stirs from music and from shout, we hear the rhythm as we march through, and nothing can stop us because all that percussion, it’s ours too. 

We see this world differently, we painted it in our art, and in our songs, we color it through words and action. We are not you. We have dreams. We have skills, we learned history too. 

Nothing looks bleak anymore because we broke our backs and that silence you shoved us through. We know things you don’t know, and we believe in ourselves, more than you’d ever do. 

See, it all comes down to that step, that walk into your fire; that hell you put us through. Except we will rise, generation upon generation of youth better than you. The days will come long after you, those wooden chairs will burn and your biggest fears will have come true. You do not live forever, and a Phoenix from the flames forms anew. After all, we know things you will never know. 

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A shy eulogy

I had not thought of you or even said your name in a very long time; until today when I found out you died.
I feel bad, I am hurt, and unamused by all the coverage your death is receiving. I am not accepting or giving condolences on your behalf because you are simply somebody that I used to know.I had no stake in your life and I have none in your death. I am sorry that you won’t be here tomorrow. I truly am.
I am unaware of your life and your deepest desires. I have no idea what your favorite color was or whether you ever found love. I cannot ask you why you made the choices you did. But I can just mourn the loss of you as an old high school friend.
You don’t symbolize any political agenda or ideology. Your name doesn’t cause any deep revolutionary need in me. Your life is as foreign to me as mine was to yours. But you still belong somewhere somehow in a world of the innocent, the forgiving and the free. You are not an idea or a symbol, you are not a weapon.
You were A human worthy of a long beautiful life; and I don’t think that admitting that is of any insult to you.
I am sorry today was your last, you are surrounded with grace now.
May peace be upon you

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Rebirth

 I’m shedding off my masks, I’m standing bare foot on charcoal grounds, and my hair smells of moist breezes and forgotten lands. I gaze the horizons for my home, my long lost haven, but the wonderland I’m in is of my own making. My skin is damp and my palms are sweaty, there is nothing left in this world for me.

I try to physically look back at the roads I’ve trodden, and I have made so many wrong turns my neck began to ache. My own footsteps wore me down. So I stand my ground and the burning sensation in the soles of my feet is proof of my long journey, and a sign that I should lay in the shade for a while.

Above me is sky and below me is over heated earth, I am life here and I am the movement, I am the variable and I am the catalyst. Whatever I do today will change this world I’m in.

Being the old person I am today, has never defined me, for my youth has been well taken care of. I gave my youth away to a child well deserving, a hopeful prospect for humanity. Yet, I am old today, and this land is as forgotten as I am, and my hair is as grey as the ashes my road has become. The books I have written, and the thoughts I have shared are the life I lived. I lived inside my books and through my words. The more complicated my journey got, the more exhilarating and expressive my phrases became. I existed in my characters, and in their choices. I loved what they loved and despised what they did. I have lived so many lives I can hardly keep count.

So today, I am shedding my masks and I am exposing the marks on my face, my eyes have a thousand stories to tell and my soul is an ancient one. This home I am searching for is taking form the faster I walk. I do want the shade and I definitely want to rest, but the home I’m looking for cannot wait. So I gain more pace and I look ahead, for nothing has ever slowed me down, and today neither age nor the world will as well.

As I push the gate open, I am out of breath, my knees feel weak and my head is light, yet my heart functions and beats like it has never before. But I can’t help but begin falling to the ground; out of the blue his hands reach for mine and he tells me I have done a good job. He pulls me up and leads me in. As I step inside, my hair regains its color, my hands become smooth again, and youth slams itself upon me. He whispers my story ends here, and now I can live on forever through my books. I nod with consent and close my eyes. A few seconds later I open a thousand pair of eyes all at once and through them, I never died.