We are the compassionate ones.
We are the gentle, the sweet
and the ugly.
We are the ones screaming
behind the closed doors
of our minds.
Turning tricks with psychiatrists-
there are many tricks
for the magic ones.

We are the rebels
who raise our fists and yell,
Or maybe we’re the rebels
who raise our fists and cry.
Crying, yelling, screaming-
does it really matter?
Earthly matters really.
They say everything is made from matter.
Surely the Earth it matters.

So obvious (all of it,)
so obvious it makes me sick.
So obvious that goodness should prevail,
that everything should be free.
Free in our bodies and minds,
and grocery stores.
All should be free
to seep through the cracks of the pavement
with the wild abandonment
of a sunflower
growing ironically
with purpose and precision
and a certain amount of stoicism.
We could be gathering
truth and beauty and wisdom.
Instead we hunt.

We are the rebels who raise our fists and yell.
We are the children of the Earth.
Help us if you can.

By Emily Collette