Screaming
Nightmares.
I’m in trouble, and I can’t get help.
That’s how the dream goes.
I need to run from something, but I can’t run at all. My legs barely move, as if I’m running in slow motion.
I need to fight off an attack, but my body refuses to react.
I need to scream for help, but when I open my mouth, just inaudible gasps of air fly out, unable to make a single sound.
That’s how I feel about the American election.
I want to scream.
I need to scream.
But I can’t.
I know it won’t help.
It never has.
If I scream about the good things one administration has done, I’m told it’s not true, and it doesn’t matter because blah blah blah.
If I scream about the horrors of a past administration, I’m told it’s not true, and what about blah blah blah.
If I scream about what’s on the line for the future of the world, I’m told it’s not true, and I’m just being dramatic because blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
That’s all my screams seem to be.
That’s all the screams of anyone seem to be anymore.
My screams don’t matter as much as this person’s screams or that person’s screams.
I’m in an ocean, and I need to kick my legs, move my arms, fight to survive.
Feeling absolutely dead inside, I think…sink or swim?
If I swim, I’ll tire myself out.
If I sink, I’ll just be another piece of trash that ends up on the ocean floor.
I want to scream.
