Ressistance
You watched 'The Hunger Games'
and rooted for the ones in the shadows,
the rebels with their arrows and scars,
fighting a Capitol that seemed too cruel to be real.
You cheered them on,
feeling the pulse of their defiance
in your own steady heartbeat.
You watched 'Star Wars',
gripped by the drama of the galaxy far, far away,
where a ragtag band of fighters
took on an empire too vast to comprehend,
and you sided with the rebels,
imagining yourself wielding a lightsaber,
a hero in the making.
You watched 'The Matrix'
and nodded along with Neo,
the chosen one,
as he peeled back the layers of illusion,
broke free from a world that wasn’t real.
You knew the truth was worth the fight,
even if it meant diving headfirst into the unknown.
You watched 'Divergent'
and admired the courage of those
who didn’t fit neatly into boxes,
who broke free from a society
that demanded conformity.
You saw yourself in their rebellion,
in the refusal to be anything less
than completely, utterly you.
You watched 'V for Vendetta',
felt the surge of righteous anger
as the mask-wearing hero
lit the spark of revolution,
and you cheered for the downfall
of a government too oppressive to endure.
You understood the power of the people,
the thrill of resistance,
the poetry of the fight.
And yet, here you are,
in the quiet of your own living room,
where the stories end
and reality begins.
You see the headlines,
the protests in the streets,
the calls for change,
the resistance that’s not in a book
or on a screen,
but in the world around you,
in the air you breathe.
And somehow,
the lines blur,
the thrill fades,
and you turn away,
refusing to see
that the story isn’t over,
that the battle isn’t won,
that the resistance you cheered for
in fiction
is the same one you’re living in now.
Wild,
how clear it was
when it was someone else’s fight,
and how easy it is to close the book,
to turn off the screen,
to let the credits roll,
as if that was the end.