Ballots & Bones

Ballots & Bones

They taught us politics

as if it were a sport—

red jerseys, blue flags,

a scoreboard flickering every four years

like hope on a bad connection.

But politics lives

much lower than slogans.

It lives in bones.

In rent notices folded too many times.

In grocery aisles where math happens in the chest

before it reaches the cart.

In bodies deciding which pain matters today.

Politics is not a debate stage.

It’s a kitchen table

where silence learns to speak.

They say freedom

like it’s a souvenir,

keychains and chants,

something you can wave without touching.

But freedom is quieter.

Freedom asks

who gets to rest,

who gets to breathe without explaining,

who is believed the first time they say this hurts.

Politics is the art of choosing

who is protected

and calling it “the way things are.”

We argue about leaders

while systems keep eating.

We shout names

while hunger stays anonymous.

We fight each other

so power doesn’t have to fight at all.

And somewhere a child learns

what side of the line their life belongs on

without ever stepping onto a ballot.

Still—

this is not a poem of despair.

Because politics is also the moment

someone stands between harm and another body

with nothing but their voice.

It’s the refusal

to let cruelty feel normal.

It’s the audacity of care

in a world trained to call it weakness.

Real change doesn’t thunder.

It moves like groundwater—

slow, unseen, reshaping stone

long before anyone notices the spring.

So vote if you can.

March if you must.

But don’t forget the quieter rebellions:

Listening.

Feeding.

Sheltering.

Telling the truth

without turning it into a weapon.

Because the most dangerous idea

is not left or right—

It’s the belief

that any of us are disposable.

And the most radical politics of all

is choosing to see

each other

as home.

Ballots & Bones (Unmuted)

They call it politics

so they don’t have to call it violence.

They dress it up in podiums and flags

while people disappear between policy lines

written by hands that will never shake

when the rent is due.

They argue colors

while blood keeps its own shade.

Tell me again

how this is about “values”

when children are statistics

and profit is sacred.

Tell me again

how patience is a virtue

only demanded from the starving.

Politics is deciding

who gets blamed for surviving.

Who is told to work harder

while the ladder is pulled up

and sold back as motivation.

They say freedom

with mouths full.

They say choice

to people with none.

They say law and order

like order has ever loved the poor.

And we’re trained to fight each other—

red vs blue,

left vs right—

while the machine hums happily,

untouched,

unafraid.

Because rage pointed sideways

is useful.

This system does not fail.

It performs

exactly as designed.

And the cruelest lie

is not corruption—

it’s inevitability.

Because nothing about this is natural.

Not hunger.

Not homelessness.

Not debt passed off as character flaws.

What’s radical

is not dissent.

What’s radical

is refusing to accept

a world that eats its own

and calls it economics.

Ballots & Bones (Spoken)

They taught us politics

like it lives up here—

in microphones

and suits

and soundbites.

But politics lives

down here.

(hand to chest)

In the pause before swiping a card.

In the ache of being tired

and still needing to choose.

Politics is not the argument.

It’s the consequence.

It’s who gets believed.

Who gets buried in paperwork.

Who is told to wait

while their life is already on fire.

They say freedom.

(beat)

But they don’t mean you.

They say choice.

(beat)

But only if you can afford it.

And we keep yelling at each other

like that’s the point.

But power doesn’t scream.

Power watches.

Real change doesn’t shout.

It shows up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

In meals.

In shelter.

In saying I see you

without asking for proof.

This is not about sides.

This is about survival.

And the most political thing

I can do today

is refuse to forget

that your life

is not negotiable.

Ballots & Bones (A Conversation)

CITIZEN:

I did everything you asked.

I worked.

I waited.

I voted.

Why does it still hurt?

SYSTEM:

Because pain keeps you busy.

Busy people don’t look up.

Busy people don’t notice

who’s eating.

CITIZEN:

You told me this was freedom.

SYSTEM:

I told you it was legal.

FUTURE CHILD:

Why are you tired all the time?

CITIZEN:

Because I’m carrying things

I didn’t choose.

SYSTEM:

Responsibility builds character.

CITIZEN:

No.

It builds graves.

FUTURE CHILD:

Did you know it was wrong?

(silence)

CITIZEN:

Yes.

But knowing wasn’t enough.

I was afraid.

SYSTEM:

Fear is efficient.

FUTURE CHILD:

What did you do anyway?

CITIZEN:

I fed who I could.

I spoke when my voice shook.

I stopped believing anyone was disposable.

SYSTEM:

That kind of thinking is dangerous.

FUTURE CHILD:

Good.

A Vow Beneath the Fire

I vow not to confuse silence with safety

or obedience with peace.

I will not look away

to make comfort last longer.

I choose to stand where harm is named,

to stay human in systems that profit from forgetting,

to remember that no life is collateral.

I vow to vote with my hands,

my voice,

my care—

even when the cost is mine.

I refuse a future built on disposability.

I choose each other.

Again.

And again.

And again.

— Flower InBloom