This Poem Is Not A Movement

To the self proclaimed proclaimed advocates

who smolder flame wars in burning cities

post about homelessness beside the hungry on their street:

Your profile claims you're the leader of our revolution

but you poured ice water on your head to avoid donating to ALS research

for an “activist” there is nothing active about you
championing from the comfort of your keyboard

you tweeted #blacklivesmatter

while people outside your window

chant it in the streets

chant it in the tear gas

chant it in the prison cells

you crave convenient equality

to be the cavern praised for its echo

but oppression’s eyes can’t be gouged by thumbs up

facebook likes elevate your ego not the fallen

today you shouted through a silent medium

today

we became the generation

who demands wildfire out of unlit cigarettes

you are a severed lighter who’s never tasted flame

we were not built to tweet from the shoulders of giants

we climb blood and bones for more than the view

Malala took a bullet to go to class

and we pretend sharing an article about her

is solidarity

Resurrected hope isn’t reverb

isn’t the applause of a digital choir

the three minutes it took to reblog about Orange is the New Black

won’t spark prison reform

posting hunger statistics won’t change them

Just as staring at beer won’t take you off those antibiotics,

splashing around in your own tub will never make waves

a hashtag is not a movement

a retweet is not a movement

this poem is not a movement

a movement involves moving

standing up for something

strong enough to pin you down

wrestling with controversy under mustard moonlight

until it quivers at the edge of your jaw

skin it into a saddle and ride into a ruptured horizon

you know, Ghandi didn’t instagram the sea

he marched to it

it’s important to be heard

but America’s systems

have bleeding out for centuries

someone has to stitch us back together

someone has to do more than scream doctor

someone should start a conversation

but we need more than just talk.