I found salvation in a well-lit hookah bar in Adam's Morgan,
Practiced the art of sacrificing my loneliness into smoke rings,
Escaped a night of staking facebook profiles of acquaintances that will never be part of my life,
In search of a stranger who might change my life,
Like the man playing guitar by the entrance to the Metro:
The great minds of my generation,
I hear their voices in the poetry of past generations,
Escaping the curse of all generations
And I wasn't alone.
Not with a bag full of volumes from used book stores and libraries crossed over my heart,
Not with the words of Ginsberg and Bradbury open on my lap.
Not with the lyrical romance of rhythm in my mind,
There's a mosaic on the roof of my skull,
There is a community in the scribbles of my notebook.
Though the news spoke of murder and institutionalized racism,
Though the art on the walls was probably illegal, and definitely unsigned,
And a one-line poem in black ink on the bridge
Waged peace on the violent: "Shoot cops, not dogs".
I felt hope,
Not the kind that manifests itself in lonely tears,
But the kind that screams.
No one has veto power over my life,
There is always a way to look in their eyes and change their minds.
There is always a way to dodge their barrels and act directly,
There's always a way to build love from tragedy,
You are never alone, there's always someone else in the crowd
(First draft, and I'm not even sure this is a poem, but it's worth sharing.)