The Bubble of Ignorance – Part 2

Okay, firstly, I hadn’t intended on publishing something twice in a row. This is my 100th post, and it’s not what I envisioned sharing. But this is the world we live in now, and I can’t make happy, woo, cutesy posts when our world is continuing to face terrible acts of injustice, murder, and hatred.

Over two years ago, I wrote and later published a post about my feelings on the so-called Islamic State.

In those two years, my knowledge and understanding about how they work has grown.

I’ve started speaking out more about them, as well as many other injustices happening around the world. Since publishing that post, I have made an effort to not live in my bubble of ignorance. I’ve started protesting and educating myself and people around me about what’s going on. I’ve become particularly passionate about what’s going on in Syria.

Okay, enough intro. Here’s my follow up on The Bubble of Ignorance, especially in the wake of the attack on the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester. Once again, it’s unedited because I just wrote it.


Here you sit, in your bubble of ignorance.

I suppose it’s better than indifference and apathy.

But you laugh at me

When I call you out.

“What more can I do?” You say, as you scroll through Facebook endlessly.

Your thoughts and prayers are with them, you say,

When in actuality,

You’re hoping that I just go away

And let you return

To your bubble of ignorance.

Because you can’t be blamed for not acting

When you simply didn’t know

About the killing

Or the drilling

Or the missing

Or the chilling scenes of death, despair, and destruction

That flood my Facebook feed, but somehow you’ve tailored your feed

To only show you things you want to see.

That’s fair,

But you know what isn’t?

That you get to sit happily in your bubble of ignorance

While PEOPLE in Syria

And around the world

Are crying

Are DYING

Are trying to get to safety.

Are risking everything for their family.

When all you risk is your “image.”

“Facebook should be about happy things,” you say.

Fine, and by the way,

Your privilege says, “Hey.”

You can’t rush away from this injustice.

Now, trust us,

You’ll be asking for trouble

If you’re caught

Sitting in your bubble

Of ignorance.

The Open Mic

Ten feet away, an idol stands at a microphone in front of her.

The idol announces that her turn is up in 3, and she isn’t sure

whether she’s ready.

She’s never been one to be so real

in front of strangers, and she doesn’t want to steal

the spotlight from people

whose stories matter more than hers.

Not that she thinks she’s any good.

It’s the opposite. She supposes she could

decide to leave or withdraw, but she sticks it out.

She practically blacks out during the next two sets,

but she tries to focus.

The man before her is powerful

with a message that empowers.

Will her message empower?

No.

But it’s her turn.

The idol returns and announces that she’s up.

Is that really her name? It sounds unnatural, and she wants to throw up.

But she stands up

and faces the open mic.

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I did my very first open mic the other night. I read Stubborn and Enough. I think it went well, but it was terrifying. Thanks to everyone who supported me that night, and special thanks to Kristine for taking me.

A Journey to Tiny Hands

A lone bag slouches on a shelf.A bunny bag sits on a shelf. Others sit below it.

Filled with books, all ready for tiny hands.

It sits.

And sits.

And waits.

A lone being approaches the bag, smiling.

It lifts the bag and brings it to a cart.

It’s filled with other, bigger bags.

A day passes.

The bags wait.

The being returns and moves the cart to a vehicle

Where it loads the bags and cart.

The vehicle moves for what seems like ages.

It stops.

The being is back, and it lifts the bag and carries it into a house.

After some time, the tiny hands appear.

Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, too many to count.

They empty the bag.

Waiting to be refilled, it sits on the floor, satisfied that it has brought the books to the tiny hands.

A month passes.

The being returns.

The bag is refilled,

Reset in the vehicle,

Transported home,

Cleaned, and set on the shelf

Where it will wait for the next being who will transport it to new sets of tiny hands.

Success

What is success?

Is it a grade? A number? A pay check?

Is it measured with happiness? Education? A piece of paper?

Is it a big house, with a nice car, 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence?

In school, is it what you learn in a class, the grade you get, or both?

At work, is it the money, the praise, the patrons, or something else entirely?

At home, is it a safe place, a welcoming family, a cat?

What makes someone successful?

Is it a legacy, a memory, or what you experience while alive?

What is success?

Stubborn

via Daily Prompt: Stubborn

Stubborn. Not moving. Won’t budge.

Not open.

Closed minded.

Closed.

Open up.

To a viewpoint.

An idea.

Latching onto an idea.

Now stubborn with conviction.

Won’t give up a viewpoint.

Standing your ground.

Holding on.

Stubborn.

Being forced to let go.

Tightening grip.

Can’t let go.

Can’t give in.

Must stand ground.

Must stay stubborn.

Tug of war.

Ideas flying.

Whips made out of words.

Stubborn.