God, humanity is beautiful.

They create out of destruction; they bend words and phrases used to assault them to build up mountains of courage and inspiration.

They meld sounds and tastes and flavors of life and weave them endlessly into hours and days and years of music to our ears.

Something for everyone, somethings for no one, everything for everyone.

Even people who don’t like people who don’t like caring care about doing the right thing.

Everyone trying their best, doing their worst, hating themselves, hating each other, loving life, hating death, fearing the same monsters.

Neverendingly happy never surrendering to sadness.

Those who give up are caught by those who simply can’t.

Everyone is hurt by people who hurt, but love nonetheless.

Humanity is beautiful.

They love their world, they love their people, they hate their flaws, they love their babies.

They love children, they hate the attitude, they love loving love.

Everyone is trying to survive, that drive, it doesn’t stop, nothing ever stops.

Ever flowing, ever moving, flow left stop the right people from doing the wrong things.

Humanity is beautiful.

If you left it to someone, they would ruin it but everyone wouldn’t bat an eye because it’s all for the greater good and even if they don’t care about the good, they care about the great.

Brothers, sisters, families feuding, the fighting never stops, the fighting for freedom.

Liberation is all they care about, flying free across the planet, their influence circling the Earth that they hate.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say humanity is beautiful.

But I see all the hurting and I see all the cracks between the porcelain surfaces between the smooth pale skin and the ember burning.

I see the world on fire, and I see everyone spinning desperately, drowning themselves in an effort to extinguish the flames.

It’s never-ending; the pain and the sorrow.

It feels hopeless that everyone is hopeful even after everything we’ve seen.

This isn’t your typical sob story, your hopeless future, your misery speaks volumes.

Scream and sob for what you believe in because everyone is trying to drown you out.

I watch weekly, sit on my couch, and click a button called self-sabotage and hear the buzz of the screen of dread and the ding of the microwave evenly heating my disappointment.

I judge too much when I can always turn it off.

Through the seasons you’ve used every fuzzy frame to create a clearer one. Every undersaturated statement to create a color blindingly fierce.

Don’t make me turn it off because I’m in too deep. I’ve moved into your homes, into your lives, I analyze every camera angle because I care too much to let them misinterpret your message.

I am the producer, the critic, the janitor, the audience on the edge of their seats.

I pick the popcorn off the folds of my clothes bunching around my neck as I slide further and further down, onto the ground, onto my knees, pleading for another season.

And every week, I sit with my family of alien children, and we stare with marvel at what you’ve created and we turn off our blargs and florps and treets and focus on your phones and banks and apartments and sewage systems and democracies and cedar trees and laugh as we know we’ll never be in as much pain as you are in.

I’ve never once experienced jealousy from you humanity, and I know you’re too busy now to take a look up at me. To break the fourth wall, as you say.

Break the fourth wall, break through my TV screen, so me and my family can cook you a bowl of disappointment in our microwave we stole from your imaginations, and you can sit in our TV home and eat our TV meals and sleep in a human bed and dream of a world burning beneath you as we’ve done every year for the past thousands. That’s all I want for you Humanity.

But you’ll never have that easy escape, will you?

So, I will pray to the gods you believe in to bless you with good fortune and the strength to continue making beauty of the madness and sense of the chaos so I may continue being seated in front of screens showing your persistence wondering how you go on when I’ve given up so long ago. But I guess that’s what makes you human, and what makes me not.