Her eyes were hazel like the whiskey I sat
down to drown myself in
Her stiletto heels cruel, unforgiving
Vowing, if not plotting, to stomp the world
Of all its bigotry and hatred
If, only the world would listen.
But I listened because I was not a part of the world
I was a part of the lost tribe—that great tribe
Of wanderers and misfits
Of convicts and drunkards
Of thieves and jesters
Unsettled by the howls
Reaching over the hills
Through the treetops
Below the murmurs and tides
So I took her by the wrist and together we fled
To the surface of the perforated moon
Away from the voices
Away from the opinions
Out of the garden
Like barons in the prison sun, seeking
Sanctuary, knowing peace—lasting peace—rested
On the frontlines of one final war.
If, only the world would listen.
And together, at last, we filled our cups
Partaking of a greater knowledge—higher justice
Whirling around the wastes of our souls
Shedding the sneers of experts
Muffling the snarls of magistrates
Standing at the lit doorway
Sowing
Present without future, past without present
Future without past
This is the only way
I have ever known how to love
And this will always be my greatest downfall
Written By Brandon Loran Maxwell
Brandon Loran Maxwell is a writer, speaker, and prize winning essayist. His writings and commentary have appeared at The Hill, Salon, Townhall, The Washington Examiner, The Oregonian, FEE, and Latino Rebels Radio, among others. He regularly speaks on a variety of social topics, and has been cited at outlets such as The Los Angeles Times, Vox, and The Washington Post. His personal essay “Notes From An American Prisoner” was awarded a Writer’s Digest prize in 2014, and his one-act play “Petal By Petal” about drug and alcohol addiction was performed at The Little Theater in 2009. In addition, Brandon has fronted various punk rock and hip hop groups. He holds a B.S. in political science, and often writes about prison reform, immigration reform, pop culture, music, and Chicano culture.