Senseless

My father always told me:

It doesn’t have to make sense.

 

I didn’t believe him.

 

I eat food and my body transforms,

Swells, processes, creates,

This makes sense.

 

My eyes absorb the spectrums

They are designed to and ignore

The rest, like my mind in its sea of thoughts,

This makes sense.

 

He tells me he likes me but doesn’t call

For 2-27 days until he has his aha moment,

And there is nothing I can do to rush it,

Or make it come if it won’t,

And even this makes sense to me.

 

But Sandra makes no sense.

Eric makes no sense.

Alton makes no sense.

Philando makes no sense.

Tamir made no sense.

Yuvette made no sense.

Kayla made no sense.

 

My father knew.

 

Emmett didn’t make sense.

James didn’t make sense.

Malcolm didn’t make sense.

Fred didn’t makes sense.

Martin didn’t make sense.

Shit, Chicken George didn’t make sense.

 

Yet rationality rules…

 

It has never made sense;

It has made war, torture,

Neglect, poverty, rape & abuse

Words of common sense out

Of sheer usage alone.

 

They have never made sense.

 

Not once.

 

Not once in the history

 

of people being people

 

has it made sense.

 

so what do we make of this?

 

Do we make cages for ourselves and others?

Do we make fences with “no trespassing” signs?

Do we fire bullets in the air and conveniently forget

gravity until they all come crashing in?

Do we make our hearts as closed as our minds?

 

We’ve already made nation states & nationalities,

Genders, sexual orientations, races that no one wins.

We’ve made treaties, songs, poems, refugee camps,

Dances, historical landmarks, and manifestos;

Hell, according to some, we’ve even made it

To the moon. But still no sense on the ground.

 

We’ve made the reefs disappear,

Our brothers cry and our sisters bleed,

We’ve made our mothers wish we’d never been born-

They can’t stand to see what we have to live through,

if we manage to live through it- we’ve made enough

drugs, and enough people desperate enough

to take them that most of us aren’t really living

anymore anyway.

 

So what do we do?

 

Do we hide?

Do we run?

Do we swim?

Do we fly?

 

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I can’t know,

Because

The one thing

We can’t seem

To make is

Sense.

 

I guess,

In its absence

We do as we are told

And make the most

Of what we have;

Our love, pain,

Passion, anger,

And the years we’ve had

To realize reason

Is no fit ruler to

for a heart.

Published by

moonwise

Jihan McDonald is a facilitator, counselor, writer and educator from Oakland, CA. Currently completing a Masters in Social Transformation, Jihan derives deep pleasure from the meaning of words, the reading of books, the dancing of feelings, and the naming of squirrels. Jihan greatly dislikes inequity & close-toed shoes.

4 thoughts on “Senseless”

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