Hate Letter

Dear Gas-Powered Leaf Blowers,

I hate you. I hate the 180 mph force you generate to blow leaves from the grass to the street. What happened to upholding the principles of symbiosis and composting? Are leaves meaningless in our society? Bright joyous leaves enjoy resting on the soothing grass and should not be forced into exile onto the concrete streets. In order to fulfill their destinies, leaves deserve to live wherever they please. If they are not harming others, why should they be moved? I am frustrated that you fail to see leaves as equal members of the local ecosystem. I hope you are aware that The Leaf Preservation Society is constantly fighting for leaves’ rights and one day will prevail!

I loathe how your painful roaring noise causes me to lose concentration and become visibly unhappy, and I hate that most of you create 75 dB of noise at a distance of 50 feet and up to 95 dB at close range. This amount of noise pollution is so detrimental to delicate human lives, it has been banned in certain cities (Beverly Hills being the first).  A universal ban has not been established, and I wonder how much misery will take place before the American government passes legislation. How can clean yards justify the annihilation of gardeners’ hearing? Gardeners should be compensated for their auditory sacrifices; however, the emotional and psychological toll of permanent hearing loss can never be quantified. The gardening community has suffered enough, and I demand justice! Je suis Gardener.

Most importantly, I abhor your emissions. The gasoline fuel you use to commit your crimes is deadlier than you realize. Your engines release carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, hydrocarbons, and particulate matter which are contributing to air pollution and global warming. Yes, I understand that you do not believe in global warming. This is precisely why I hate you. Denial of one’s flaws is forgivable. Denial of global warming is psychotic and requires intense psychiatric treatment. I beseech you to envision the world of your grandchildren: a world that has been devastated by drought, floods, and civil unrest. Why can’t you comprehend that you are an accomplice to the murder of your own progeny? You may never hear the sweet giggles of baby leaf blowers in the future!

I must digress for a moment to address one vile leaf blower in particular. You know who you are. At 9 am every Wednesday, you roar continuously like a mentally challenged Tyrannosaurus Rex outside my bedroom window.  While I try to keep calm and continue working from home on my laptop (in my eco-friendly bamboo pajamas), your gas-powered droning noise disrupts the neuronal connections in my brain. Normally a sweet and gentle soul, I transform into the massive and ferocious Hulk…every single Wednesday at 9 am! I officially declare war against you and your kindred. As others join the anti-gas powered leaf blower movement, we will do everything in our power to advocate the return of the rake and compost pile. We will protest on every lawn in America and will not stop until each and every one of you has retired. Heed this warning: you will be defeated!

Sincerely,

Anonymous hipster hippie from California (who sometimes donates to Greenpeace)

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Locked inside

I will be your hidden chamber

filled with corners of dejected dreams

insults of years gone by

the fears that torture you.

I will carry those screams

silence them in my arms

blaze the entire place

in an act of arson

I will mend your heart

with my lips

You will rise to your destiny

with trepidation

Your courage and ambitions will

fly you away

from me

but I will always remain

locked inside

Blitz

Searching for peace

No sleep

It robs and throbs

Heart gives way to sobs

Warm, our spirits free

He is dancing, loving me

It seemed so real

His raw heart, I did feel

Now looking back

It was a blitz, an attack

Too forced to be true

Deformed love never grew

I am now calm, serene

Living, an ocean scene

Waves purify face

True love, I am eager to taste

Homeless Man in Little Tokyo #dtla

He tried to punch me

But I leaned away

He walked away hallucinating

Delusions of street life

Homeless homes

On the intersections of Little Tokyo

He grew more agitated as the weeks

Went by

Tapping me on the shoulder

As I ate at an outdoor patio

He kept mumbling incoherent

Thoughts

I couldn’t understand him

And never will

And that is the worst part:

To be misunderstood

Is a form of death.

He deserves to live.

Spill

Self containment is not necessary.

Let yourself spill.

Pour the wine on the carpet

Shove the trash into the back seat.

Smear your tears on the wall.

Restoration requires a detox cleanse

Let it spill

Let the fears go

Watch them float into the sky

On a hot day

Spill onto him

Spill onto her

Love outside you

It was never meant to be

Self-contained.

Fire

Let us consume each other until only ashes persist

It is not death but the creation of a shared soul

Passion is not the only one who plays with fire

Love is an expert at burning us whole

After the flames are no longer dancing

Something more exquisite begins to take form:

A mutual respect we never expected

An invisible bond that can never be torn