May 2017 – The Secret Life of Pandas

“–Jon Snow.”

I really don’t.

I can’t tell you what I actually know about. I feel like my mind is blank.

Here are things that I know as of right now:

I am alive.

I can’t think of anything else.

I am breathing.

but I suppose that falls under being alive. If you are living, you are breathing.

I took a deep breath just now thinking about it.

Maybe I don’t even know how to breathe properly anymore.

Today is Wednesday, yesterday was Tuesday, it feels like today should already be Friday but it isn’t.

I still have to say, “wed-nes-day” in my head to spell the day of the week correctly.

What I’m trying to say is nothing feels real or certain.

I’m floating by.

People keep asking me what’s wrong. I’ve become transparent. Everything inside, shining through.

Or rather, everything that isn’t there is apparent.

The death toll is 45 on a Monday morning.

Men, women, children– someone’s baby who isn’t coming home again.

Did you tell him you love him before he went out that door?

Mami, le diste la bendicion?

It’s not a terrorist attack or natural disaster, it’s just another month gone by in Chicago.

These are the things you read when scrolling through pictures of puppies and reports about winning teams.

Something must be done!

Hot air and empty promises.

Men in suits telling me how we should live,

But bullets speak louder than words.

Why are we killing each other?

Will I ever know the desperation that leads me to pull a gun on my neighbor?

The anger?

The rage?

Don’t speak to me about the problem with gun violence when you have no solution.

Speak to me with opportunity and art and beauty.

Speak to me with options instead of liquor stores on every corner.

Speak to me with playgrounds for our children instead of empty lots and chain link fences.

Until then don’t talk to me about a problem like I’m not drowning in the tears of broken mothers.

The Secret Life of Pandas