“Don’t Lose Sleep Over It”
I dislike it when people say,
“Don’t lose sleep over it.”
Chances are, I probably will.
No matter how miniscule the item in question.
Tossing and turning
Thinking about:
The conversation,
The worry,
The undone task,
The future,
The thing I did wrong
Or really right.
That battle in my head I wish I’d won,
That week’s current event,
That excites me
Or makes me anxious.
The event that will bring me closer towards my authentic liberation.
That will bring the country and world closer towards their shared liberation.
Freedom of mind and body in shared community and space.
Thinking about:
The thoughts or words
I need to write down.
The connectedness of all issues
and solutions.
The laws, the bylaws.
The bombs and budgets of the West.
Thoughts and emotions reeling,
Looking towards the next day.
Even when the sun is asleep.
While I should be asleep.
Heart beating fast,
Waiting for news.
Mouth drying waiting to speak,
Body restless,
Waiting to strike.
They say rest is radical and crucial.
And I agree.
But how do you sleep,
in a country that’s mostly asleep?
How do you sleep
When billionaires and boys start a coup
and establishment leaders play by the rules?
How do you sleep
When leaders create double standards,
Ignoring the cries of their people,
Cracking down on protesters and the working class,
Waving colors of Blue, white, red, green, and black?
How do you sleep,
With a mind that’s awake
And a body that’s moved to act?
A Frozen Fire Melts Ice
For so long, I’ve sat in a costume.
Waiting for something.
And as autumn passed and mid-winter sat,
my mouth grew dry.
As I stood and listened.
Too nice to be angry,
but not kind enough
to address a problem.
Ready to please whoever walked my path.
Worry kept me still,
My jaw clenched,
frozen and ready to tell a lie.
Just to make everything fine.
After years of living in a freeze state,
two people happened upon my path:
One was my friend and
One was my younger self.
They placed a glass bottle near my face.
As soon as the Olive Oil touched my lips,
I felt like it was safe to begin unfreezing.
Like the Tin Man, I could finally move my jaw.
Up and down, left to right.
And I found my voice.
I found that I had a lot to say.
I was angry, more so than I knew.
I didn’t know what I was searching for,
words or actions.
But I knew I had been holding me back.
My friend looked taken aback.
But they pulled out a compact of their pocket.
They opened it and it reflected.
I saw my face and felt it.
Soft and cold to the touch.
I saw my eyes, fire sign.
Flames ablaze.
This fire melted the remaining ice.
This fire lit up someone the ice had hidden.
Someone ready to speak.
Someone ready to act.
Someone ready to be in community.
Someone ready to support others unfreeze.
Giulia DeLuca is a writer living in Washington, DC. In her work, she combines current events, the complexities of navigating the human experience, and the need for shared action and liberation.
Image: Ted.ns, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
