The next time I see little things severing the corners of my world, selling pages of books, I know what I want to see: Advocacy.
Not Advocacy that cries a river and then screams of being bothered by the monsters who try to climb out of the stream.
I want to look past the Mohawks, and financed tattoos, and clipped wings and see people who are birds, but not scavenging birds.
I know I don’t want to see the same monsters inside me now living in the bright daylight. I want to see lovers whose hearts and bodies are in flight.
Advocacy. Real Advocacy.
I want to see it.