Voting is a right,
Not a privilege.
Why is it then that
People with privilege,
Seem to be selected
As
Right,
And those who seek their
Rights
Are given the gates,
Filled with
Forms
And
Fragments,
Not
Pieces,
With which
To select your answer
To the puzzle
We call
Politics.
Voting makes our voice heard,
Not silenced.
Voting means democracy,
Not a dictatorship.
Voting is our choice,
Not someone else’s.
Why is it then,
We have no vocal cords
Left to yell
Run?
Why is it our
Choice
Is magically
Unverifiable?
Why is my presence of mind,
But physical absence,
A method of
Invalidation?
Why do I go to the polls,
But my opinion
Doesn’t make the cut
To be a part
Of the
Sample?
What size must we get to
For our voice to be counted?
It’s like counting
Chickens,
And watching them hatch,
But still saying the chicken
Doesn’t count
Because it can’t
Possibly know what a chicken
Should think,
Or
Want,
Or
Choose.
It’s like finding a coin,
But then the coin
Has no
Upside,
But you can’t see the downside,
Until someone flips it
And it lands on
Tails.
In hindsight,
It was
Rigged,
All,
Along.
A dice can roll a 6,
But if it doesn’t count for something,
Why roll the
Dice?
Because your chance
Matters.
Our lives
Matter.
Life
Has meaning.
And your vote
Will express
The choices
You make,
Hoping that others
Will then get that same
Opportunity.
Earned,
Not
Squandered.
Every,
Single,
Time.
What makes my vote
Any less than the one
A politician needs to win?
Why is it a winner
Is deemed
A
Cheater,
But a loser
Is deemed a
Victim?
Where is the love
For our fellow
Human
Being?
You could hate a man
For his opinion,
But you cannot change
The
Facts.
A person is no more evil
For their mind
Than
Yours,
But a human
Does not
Choose to silence
His neighbors,
Because its not his land alone.
After all,
It’s called a neighborhood.
Not that you should wear
A
Hood.
Why is it our policies
Make us
So fuzzy
That our competition
Seems to look at us
Like
Scum,
Not
Chewing
Gum?
Gum is malleable,
Stretches,
Breaks,
Rebuilds,
But it stays
Ready to
Keep
Going.
No one quit when the race
Was run,
Just as a horse
Doesn’t stop
After hearing the gunshot
Cease to exist.
That’d be no
Fun.
A finish line
Is the beginning of something new.
But a starting point is the finish
Of something so antique,
It cannot be broken
Without alarm bells
Ringing.
The gong
Is hit,
But the silence
Of crows
Is deafening.
An unwritten page is the
Peace
Of the war
You didn’t know you were
Waging.
Time to vote,
Right?
After all,
It’s called
Voter’s
Rights.
Not
Voter’s
Wrongs.
Because no one is wrong.
It’s their damn,
God-given
Right.
Let fate decide,
What destiny,
Might.
For
After it all,
The start is
In
Sight.
Happy
Election
Night.