Us and them: Maybe I prefer boredom...

Why is the world so cruel?
Or is ugly more apt?
Violent? Mean? Hateful?
Hard-hearted? Greedy?
Suspicious? Paranoid?
Scapegoat-seeking?

Ah, yes.
"Negativity bias."
The human instinct to feel and see
the worst
so we are not overtaken by it,
so we can protect against it
for the survival of our progeny.

At some point, or points,
we all play the hypocrite.
The "interpreter from underneath."

Yet, as I mentally note the voluminous
shared aspects of our common humanity,
in the back of my mind lurks the question,

What about the sociopath?

That category of humanity who, supposedly,
cannot feel empathy?

The rules do not apply to them.
Yet, they are human.
Are they not also subject to
our common emotions,
our shared humanity?
Some good must dwell somewhere
within them?

How can I describe it?
Understand it?
This lurking question,
this not-quite-human reality,
working at cross-purposes with my
desire to believe
there is good in all humanity.
Is it difficult because it is so foreign?
Or is it difficult because it is too intimate?

Questions to which there are no clear answers.

Am I unable to see the sociopath as fully human?
What are they, if not fully human?
My only conclusion is that,
either in the womb or later,
an empathy-void developed
for which there is no cure.
If I cannot have empathy toward that,
am I fully human?

That's what life is.
A whole lotta damn questions.
And not as many answers.
Life would be pretty boring otherwise...

Maybe I prefer boredom...

*~*

"Some humans ain't human..." by John Prine

But still, "I wanna believe in humanity..." By Carole King

Validity

Why is your opinion more valid?
Because of confidence?
Because of belief?

I used to say,
"I don't just believe;
I know,"
when it came to the "right-dividing"
of the Scripture,
which spanned all life
and time and circumstance.

The Lion King

Three friends
lying on their backs,
staring up at the night sky
filled with tiny, twinkling lights.

One friend, Pumbaa, asks,
"Timon, ever wonder
what those sparkly dots are
up there?"

Timon answers,
"Pumbaa, I don't wonder.
I know."

Pumbaa replies,
"Oh.
What are they?"

Timon answers,
"They're fireflies.
Fireflies that got stuck up in that
big bluish, black thing."

Pumbaa replies,
"Oh. Gee.
I always thought they were
balls of gas
burning billions of miles away."

"Simba, what do you think?"

Simba is hesitant,
timid to reply.
But with some cajoling
he gets it out.

"Somebody once told me that
the great kings of the past
are up there,
watching over us."

Timon and Pumbaa ponder
for a moment.
And then burst into
laughter
at the thought of
dead royals watching over them.

Unknown to Pumbaa and Timon,
Simba is a royal.
A runaway, hiding in exile.
His father had been a great king
who was murdered when Simba,
now a young adult,
was a cub.

Whose opinion is more valid?
Mine? Yours?
His? Hers?

Puddle

I don't like feeling hate
And I will not allow another
That power over me

To cause me to feel such hatred
At least, for a prolonged amount
Of time

Yet, for this moment, I feel
Hatred
A rottenness in my belly

Forty-five
I steel against his lies
And the division he spews

His life motto is
If you bellow a lie often enough
People will believe it

He squawks and shrills
Refusing accountability
Exposing his own guilt

I wonder if he feels
At all
I wonder if his constant chaos is an effort
To feel

I doubt the man has an inkling of humility
In his soul
This week he tweeted,
"...I have already MADE America Great Again..."

I thought of Proverbs, Chapter 16
"Pride goeth before destruction"
I thought of Lucifer's "I wills"
In Isaiah, Chapter 14

Lucifer fell
Yet he retained great power
Trump just needs to fall

And cease

I pray Trump's pride is his demise
But instead of retaining any power
May he melt away

Without recognition