Fight Fight Fight!

But what to fight?
A being less great?
Or nature itself?

Kindness comes in every package.
Even in death,
Even in killing.

And don’t mean just killing with Kindness.
Killing with teeth and nails
And knives and bats and guns.

It can all be beautiful
And wrong
at the same time.

Or wrong and right.
And it’s that of which I write.

I write to kill with feeling
And just like that lion,
will I decide to be merciful?
Or will I decide to slay
art?

I am no lion.
That is what I know.
I do not know what a lion feels like on the inside,
But I know it does not exist in me.

I know I am no fish either.
If anything, I am the water that
spewed in from the outside,
changing the insides of everything
that was into what is.

I present conflict
and questions—
truly by just being.
That’s okay.

Existing is neither good nor bad.
Like everything else,
it is neutral until compared to something else.

Lunch tables
and worn blue jeans
and soft touches
and the devouring…
It’s all the same.

This is our wild.