Oppression

Andrea Bustillo (she/he/they)

The world is a network
Of pipes groaning with the weight of shit
And gasoline,
Leaking from gaping bullet holes
Like bloody wounds
​Covered with tiny band-aids called “policies.”

These pipes travel through sacred ground
And sacred bodies,
Into our food and into our brains 
Until we spit out the same shit
And gasoline, 
Lighting fires in everyone’s homes except ours. 

These pipes wrap around our necks
Until we have no air left to breathe,
No water left to drink,
No books left to read, 
No minds left to dream.

The world is a network
Of hands, dirty and clean,
Aching to hold onto each other
And sing the songs of those birds
We killed 
And don’t hear anymore.

These hands reach to the sky 
And grasp at another universe 
Where we’ll undoubtedly kill each other again,
But until then, 
I hope you like the taste of shit
And gasoline.