The kids of tomorrow the kids of yesterday and the kids of hereafter

The kids of tomorrow the kids of yesterday and the kids of hereafter
By Jack Dinovitz

Respect the kids today we're not a worlds away were the same generation once were dead.  Because not all pretty things comes in a perfect blue box and not all people want to die for something that once made them bled. 
Because the beauty and reality is that we are not all the same. Because that's the way it goes  my dear the lion eats the tamed. The kids of tomorrow are looking at those of yesterday and the ones of hereafter are not looking at who or what is gay. Because religion doesn't rule anymore, gods not in a box, Jesus died on the cross.. for us. Would he admire the way you talked. Many saints and foes have died blaming a single cause with people shaking there head up in down following the elephants jaws. But if Jesus was here where would he be a white American fading from reality? If he was to heal the ones in need.. why are we so rich to feed the none hungry. If Jesus was a refugee would you let him through your wall. Or would he just be another story talked around the dinner table.  LGBT, Muslims, Women, the deaf, the blind, those with mental disability’s, we come up with words for them more foul than fair yet there innocence keeps on ringing. What do we call them you ask? Human plain and simple. You call them by there beauty because a thigh gap doesn’t make society and a girlfriend doesn’t make someone more of a man, a hajab isn’t ugly, and sign language isn’t a sin. It’s as simple as breathing. We accept those who have a vagina, who have a heart, who has a soul, or we aren’t any better than the man in the high castle because we watched the castle crumble and we did nothing about it. We as a society see these things and throw a black tarp over it paint it yellow and say it never happened. Charlotte Perkins Gilman ask her about the color yellow and see what happens. I’m not talking about the shame and the blame of a society lost away with grief but that the boy who screamed was begging for a voice to be free of a world without a hold and control of him. Stuck in a closet created by a toxic concoction of Masculinity and shame stuffed away for a heart to pure of this world of sin... he was lost and was found numerous times by the ones he loved but ran so far into the woods of his mind that he floated to the ceiling and just watched. What do you call it I asked what do you call an adult stripping you down to nothing and torturing you until the screams in the room were so loud that you couldn’t here yourself anymore. You can’t call it molestation because they didn’t touch you... “like that” they said, but what do you call it, what do you call an adult attacking a child for something he didn’t do or the grandmother begging for the door of the patriarchy to be broken so she can save the angel getting there wings plucked... as he begged for his mommy. I don’t call it family. I don’t call it “ boys being boys “. The devil isn’t in a world underneath the earth that breathes with a core. It resides in the minds of those who have none, hollow worlds an empty cavity only to be filled with pain an suffering. The dark ones the lost ones. I Pity those creatures lurking in the dark only to shrill and shriek at the sound of love and soul. And I forgive them. And I forgive you... both.
 Love is something not granted or earned but is something from a place that takes No as an answer and is in the time and is in the space between the people. I’m not afraid of truth anymore. It doesn’t see color of skin or religion but is in the words we roll off are tongues. Martin, Maya, Lincoln, Joan, Donna, Jayme, Faith, and Bella. These are the words of my truth, the things that have been through and through. What’s your truth? What does it whisper to you? The most beautiful people are those who survive a trauma, whether abuse from a mother neglect from a father or just a world that couldn’t see the beauty exuding through there pores. We came out survivors of the world that cut all the roses but didn’t cut off there thorns. 
We are not victims, were survivors. We forget about how the girl survived through the whips and the bruises and the mother who couldn’t love her child because she didn’t know how or the boy who lost his virginity to young because no one was around to help him stop and say think. We preserve a society that holds onto the past like a chain and it beats and grinds against are skin in more ways than one, we preserve a past to evil to admit and to solemn to be taught to the kids of tomorrow to make a change, yet a flag flys high in the south with an X down the middle and asks for no consent. Those who raise there hands and scream to a man with a twisted symbol are illegal in Germany but the kkk stomps around in these streets like there grandfathers own it and we say it’s a part of history. Why? 
Because You can't remake a cherry and call it virginity. That's are society you want the push and the pull we want are cake and eat it too. Were the children of the children the baby boomers boom. The grandchildren of the damned, the scarred, the afraid. But the difference is.. we aren't afraid to cry.


  1. Because I'm a literary nerd, my favorite line might be: "Charlotte Perkins Gilman ask her about the color yellow and see what happens."

    Powerful stuff, Jack! Keep on sharing!


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