it only needs a million hands

the task before us is impossible
the scale of the many tasks before us is incomprehensible
we cannot agree on the tasks before us into the abyss
there is no way enough of us will change in time
some things may never change
we cannot keep up with the data
and we cannot keep up with the grief
and no one is trustworthy
not all the time
we cannot be trusted with this gorgeous place
with this gorgeous miraculous life

it would take so much direct and real talk
but no one learns that language at birth
it is easier to lie to each other’s faces, to keep quiet
or to rant about nameless villians
and by the time you unlearn lying
and realize the person was never reading your beautifully constructed critique
there is so little time left

and the people in power want a world of walls
and the taste of power, its rotten and sweet-tho
as we argue about how much shit to throw in the sky
and how fast to use up all the earth
and if this miracle is more worthy than the other
some babies grow up to be monsters
we argue about the words someone else used to speak about everything
and we create defiant new languages that we all learn to say
but there are no definitions, and there is no way to hear each other
the surface of the world is shifting, turning to catch the change in a mirror
did we look righteous enough, do we sound radical enough
flitting from flower to philosophical flower, or meme, or crisis
hurting ourselves, as if we are unworthy of this beautiful home

but we are of this place, it is us and home always
and even though we are overstimulated and tired
and there is no way to do what needs to be done
we have done it, and taken deep breaths, and done it again
and so we will do it, by which i mean
give ourselves to it, fully, and faltering, and then a bit more
only ever able to carry our part
learning slowly it is enough, just enough
it only seems impossible
it only needs a million hands

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