My heart swells with hope when I see hands reach out to help.
When kind words are exchanged between those who hold different views, but love is shown.
Humanity is: holding compassion for those who believe, love, look and are different from you.
Allowing them to be themselves without using who you are to judge them.
That is what true coexisting and equality is.
The only way to peace is through permitting people choices, not denying them the ability to make those decisions for themselves.
To be one world in agreement that all are authorized to have our own truths and live by them, not to suffer others to live as we say, or under a law that forces people to choose a religion, god, or forces non-belief or belief onto one another.
But to each of us an allowance to be that person inside we feel we are without hurting one another.
Angela K. Crandall ©4/29/19
I keep opening doors one by one, but nothing leads outside.
There is no destination before me, so I turn back.
In the middle of the room, a typewriter sits on a table with sheets of paper and corrective tape.
I sit down, clicking away hoping that if I write the correct story one of those doors will open.
If I use the right keywords to engage the readers, they won’t put the book down.
That someone will open it, and it will speak to them.
That is what it takes to open someone’s eyes, to give them hope is to write in a way that it tugs at the soul.
It’s what all writers are reaching for.
Each one of us hopes for so that a door will open, and we won’t be stuck in the middle of the room with all the doors leading out-blocked by so many things: Doubt, writers’ block, the perception of others views of us. These ideas must be pitched in the trash like a manuscript you were unhappy with.
Angela K. Crandall
Everything feels the same
No forward momentum
There is no change
But everything is changing
Even I am moving further into my life
Each step leading to aging
I am writing, serving what I feel is my purpose
Still, it is stagnant
Not, ripening like an apple
But I will rot
We all die
I attempt to live in each moment
And when I’ve risen
Someone pulls me down
Their words, thoughts actions I’m told to ignore
And when I rise above them, the hope lasts maybe a month
If I’m lucky I can brush their thoughts or views aside
Exhale and try to make things matter
This voice that screams for you to listen
And then you’re told you want attention
We all want attention, to be heard
Or would we rather
Sit back and turn on the television
Ignore the things turning around us
It’s hate, beauty, and the uniform we are forced to wear
Society’s standards are not mine
And I type on my machine
I’m in no race
Click, click, click
Words with meaning to sometimes only me
And I wonder if they glimpse at all, peak at what is underneath this skin
Of a beating heart that would bleed
For those who wish to speak
I know what it’s like to linger in the sidelines
To stop, not speaking, to not interrupt, to be polite
Because if you stumble over them, push them, or try
You have no manners
While neither will I.
Angela K. Crandall