One day decides the fate of our country.
One vote for life will change the lives of millions.
Two weeks I cry for you to vote – that's all.
Two minds so different only one you choose.
Three hours a day I watch the polls.
Three days a week I hope and hope.
Four years ago I learned the greatest mistake in American history.
Four years so painful they haunt my dreams.
Five minutes to write down your choice.
Four years you've had to know which one's right.
Three wishes to you that you pick right.
Two candidates, one death, one life.
One vote will change your life.
So all I can say is please vote.

Okay,
so normally
I'm impartial when asking people to go to the polls.
It doesn't matter if you're red or blue
young or kinda old.
But voting blue this year 
is not about being political.
It's saying that you give a
crap about our nation's very soul.
You are priviledged if this year 
your rights aren't on the line,
so if you care about minorities' rights,
throw away your Trump sign.
If you like the president, just hear me out
before you decide.
Take COVID, for example.
So many have died.

He refuses to condemn white supremacy,
which we all know is horrible.
He tries to take away abortion rights,
which is absolutely deplorable.
His racist statements precede him.
And he hasn't apologized.
He knew how bad COVID was in January
and he didn't even try
to fix America
or should I say, to Make it Great Again.
Do you really think America's better 

Our hearts fold into each other,
even if our hands don't,
we are the same.

We are all lost, broken people,
some poor, some rich,
some thieves, some honest,
our decisions affect how people see us,
yet we are the same.

We all look for a purpose,
for strength, 
for life,
we are the same.

We are all broken
and battered,
we all long to be new,
healed, healthy,
some of us find it,
some never do,
but we are the same.

We may be painted
black, white, brown, or red,
yet inside we are all
green,
green with inexperiance,
with growth,
with longing for the sky.

We are the same.

Woke up tired at half past four,
fell out of bed and right through the door,
went to the kitchen for food or a drink,
ate some spaghetti and talked to the sink.
Flew back upstairs to get dressed for a place
brushed with the hand soap,
used deodorant mace,
combed out my hair with toothpaste and fork,
felt a song coming on and so sang to the cork.
Busted some moves to the pots and the pan.
My neighbors all worried when I sang with the cans.
By then it was nine — my gosh I was late.
I'm supposed to be at lamp school at eight!
I used a banana to call for a lift
(ate the banana when I found out the tip).
Then rocketed through my living room door,
crashed through the wall and the hall and the floor,
tumbled downstairs and grabbed my coat,
yawned at the news and snoozed the remote,
grabbed a bagel that sang in French,
snatched a light saber and a wrench,

There are things that go bump in the night
following…
    lurking…
        hiding…
Following the light,
chasing after it.
Lurking in the shadows 
as it can never go anywhere else.
Hiding from the light,
knowing it will never belong there.
We too 
follow...
    lurk...
        hide…
Follow our loved ones,
our friends, our family.
Lurk in the background,
afraid to burst through.
Hide from our insecurities,
thinking we can never beat them.

So when we must face our demons,
we must look in the mirror first.
We must deal with the monsters in our own minds
before we can deal with the monsters beneath the bed.
We must open our own eyes to ourselves first
before we can see the monsters around us.

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. I hadn’t watched them change, so the orange was sudden, shocking.  I had spent the summer at my keyboard, in the stale air of a fairytale, in the perpetual perfection of a well-constructed story. But life changes. The light tilts. Blackberries rot. And the smell of cold dirt permeates even the most naive of fortresses. The leaves, bright and dying, were lovely.   

I rushed back inside for a sweater. I chose a baggy thing, made from light brown wool. It was plainly knit and a little itchy. Carefully, I descended the steps that led out into the avenue of burning trees. Life is a never ending series of edges. It’s the hovering, the cautious waiting, that makes it real. I filled my lungs with taut decaying air. But before I had even made it onto the dirt road, I started to cry. I cried for my broken fairytale. I cried because I knew I could never capture the beauty of the temporary. I cried because my dialog with God wasn’t going so well. The universe could be domineering in its bluntness, in its subtlety.  

I looked up, into the dancing, the fire. “Hello, lovely leaves.” I smiled, wiping away the tears with my scratchy sweater. “Shall we walk?” 
The wind animated their whispering: Only if you can catch us.

I swung my arms, bounding forward. It was a chase! I skidded across the mud and grass-stained my pants. My soft smile transformed into a feral grin. The air thickened, sharpened, and my sweater grew heavy and hot. But, finally, tangled in sweat and joy, I caught a glowing ember. I held it with fierce pride, my finger tracing its delicate curves. We danced. And after, I slipped the little red flame into my pocket.  

Branches whipped in the icy gale.
Leaves were tossed in the breeze.
The sky was a turbulent grey.

Hands ran raw over coarse bark.
Hair tangled in thorny twigs.
Feet slipped against the shaggy trunk.

Rain combated the sparse canopy.
Apples glistened with sharp mist.
The air was a shower of static.

Fingers gripped soaked knots.
Eyes narrowed in concentration.
Muscles heaved upwards.

Sun glimmered through parting clouds.
Rays bent through droplet prisms.
Rainbows scattered in the treetop.

Breaths slowed to the beat of the drizzle.
Body perched on the highest limb.
Mouth curled into a triumphant smile.