Come under my blanket, literally or metaphorically.
Share my words, and time, beneath this moonless sky. Breathe
deeply. There is warmth here; we have a place to discover,
to dream, and to make this world a little smaller.

You are not like me. Obviously. The voice is foreign. Your skin
is different; or maybe it is mine. But let’s put those differences
on the table and sit, as equals, as strangers, as humans, under
the canopy of night, united by what makes us the same.

How different can we be? You are here. So am I. Should we all
not be allowed a place for art, for dancing, and dialogue, and
just allowing things to happen. Shouldn’t this city, this place
of all places, allow for a naturally-occurring random acts of belonging.

We belong here; we are all here, more likely than not strangers.
Regardless of where we come from, or where we have been,
there are more commonalities than differences. There has to be,
we are the same. We are all right here. Right now.

Can you let go of what you are used to? Can you imagine
becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable? Can we
as a species, as a people, as a force, take back the negativity
that exists outside this blanket? Can we try?

Communication, unhindered by race, or faith, or morals and
mindset, should be the easiest way to absolve the madness
that occurs daily on this planet. If poetry is the language,
it matters less about the accent and more about the intent.

You have a voice, and it is lovely, and unique, and has
a purpose. Speak up. Share, let others know how you feel, and
what you deal with daily, weekly, and now. You belong.
Come under the cover, and make room for others.

© 2016 j.g. lewis