to write is to put pen to paper and to open a vein

 It's marvelous. 

This mandating, minuscule, minority, making more music to move the masses.

 Music to move the masses. 

What does it sound like this mass moving music. 

Its the sound of one. more. morsel. of. matter. losing his future. 

It's the sound of one. more. master of a craft who has dug their fingers into the very dirt of their passion being silenced. 

 I need a shock. a shock to shock those shocking shocks that absorb passion and put out a chart to chart my progress based on a mandating minority, making majorities mold, mistakenly muffling a once magical moment. 

I'm getting a migraine from these masters of puppets pulling the strings of this nation's education, this fixation and elation of these soldiers at their station. 

Your AK-47s raping this mother earth that I was brought up to love, that you were brought up to love. 

Where you home and your innocence now lie are with what has been destroyed. Destroyed and took your passion. 

Passion to learn, passion to change, that innocent notion as a child that you can be whatever you want to be. 

But now we know, to be or not to be is not entirely up to us. 

That innocent view that I could fly to the moon and make that unwalked dirt my home is nothing but an illusion set forth by the magical projector of “motivation.” 

I want to go home. 

I want to go back to those days where it was ok for me to think right was left, and left was right, that up was down, that east was north and south was west. 

Where I could kiss my best boyfriend and not have society slap “slut” across my face. 

Where I could have love for my best girlfriend and not “dyke” in my eyes and “homo” slammed down my throat. 

Where beauty went from grass-stained tights to a size negative 5. I want to go home.  

Go back to where your heart is. 

Is it where you grew up?  Is it where you haven’t been yet? 

is it that golden place where you can have your heart on a platter no matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey you are welcome there. 

So let’s go. Let’s go back lets go back to imagination, creativity, and passion. 

A place where if I want to make the unwalked dirt of the moon my sanctuary, I can. 

So stop. 

Close your eyes and take a breath. And click those heels together three times because there is no place like home.