A crisis immensely bigger than a hashtag

We have long lived and learned what it means to suffer the immenseness of a pain that cannot express the anguish in those few four letters. For souls are weary and burden, finding consumption in faith is only what we have to precede on what is forthcoming. What is coexisting if it mean that a foe with a skin much different than mine finds disgust in me? What more is the excellence that has united some for their passions without end to treat others better than what they have been treated?
I am skeptical at most what it means to love freely and openly, give such passion into life that is stifled for so many as myself and not as I.
There are not words as powerful to contain what gnaws at the flesh, selfishly feeding on the heart itself to say the world is just.
Has the world not learned what extreme hatred can lay upon the human race?
Has it come to play that there is nothing before and after our passing, we simply exist to grovel on pain?
No.
I feel as though the philosophies that curled from our grandparents native tongue of greatness are sought after in vain. I feel a great somber misfortune that to be open and to be free is to die with the passion on our lips that we have chosen to live despite peril.
Live that our vengeance curdled under the floorboards and rose in giant leaps of fire but nonetheless we wailed the words poets cannot capture. The words our mothers and fathers show with their sighs and looks of hoping that if it is not forever we live for but we live for our constant glimmer of being softer.
Collapse and crumble.
The connotations are not fitting for their beauty.
I’ve heard to collapse is to mimic the creationists love dream. Fingers held to lips simply to hush and listen assured me it is I, you and I that should crumble and share ourselves.
Although I am unsure of how to crumble easily. Cornbread now sopped with milk, I am uneasy,  tense and anxious of what it feels to be hurt.
Though, it is recollected that to share ourselves and continue to patch others we seek this wholesome completeness that we never knew that was in us.
The people of the world are brown, and not purple but in fact have learned an internal suffering so deep it runs through the streets like blood.
The people of the world hold little to no power of how long they will live, but neither do those who want to hold such superiority…
No the people of the world are not only brown but in the expanding microcosm of awareness,  you and I both come to understand what it means to not be able to find words to express our…
Longing to find meaning.

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