Justice and Healing by Adriana Parrino (16, Arizona)

The healing in justice,
As our bones begin to relieve the burdens put on us by the governing body,
Rather than just having us relive our trauma for the understanding of everybody
Else.

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When our muscles begin to feel what it's like for our eyes to see others holding themselves accountable for their actions,
Watching abuse of power and entitlement face itself for the first time,
Watching cops kneel in front of protestors,
The justice in healing,
When finally we know ourselves to be enough,
To own the injustices done to us,
As injustice,
And not just everyday inconvenience,
Although to too many,
It does happen every day,
And is far too often perceived as just inconvenience.
The healing in justice,
As we reallocate funds of our communities,
We reallocate priorities of our authorities,
We abolish colleges of the electoral kind,
Showing whose vote really counts.
Whose vote really counts?
They make our throats hurt
Telling them every minute we can talk
That those who come to this country to flee
Are those who made this country free.
The least we should do is give them a vote.
Back up.
I meant 
Free from Britain,
To be clear.
No one has yet to let the people be free within their own country.
No one has yet to be free,
Or even loose,
From the chains of fear here.
 
That's why they do it.
Fear.
Fear makes hate makes hurt,
And justice heals hurt, curbs hate, eases fear.
The justice in healing,
After centuries of oppression,
It's our time now,
The women,
The people of color,
The lgbtq+ folx,
The fat people,
The people with disabilities,
The poor people,
The people whose religion doesn't happen to be christianity,
The discriminated against,
The misunderstood,
And all the in between,
It's our time to take time to heal ourselves.
Finally.
Let your muscles rest.
Let your arms down that have been busy plowing the fields of justice.
 
Don't misunderstand. I know there's more work to be done.
But there's healing to be done first.
We are taught to be eternal fountains of advice, of work, of relentless drive,
We walk out of the house, with our fists lifted high,
We march the streets with every step we take,
And we still manage to never turn in a ballot late.
All this to say,
Every day,
We work so hard,
We must reap our fruits and gobble them hungrily,
Sit down with a full plate 
At the table,
Yes,
Even sometimes,
Elbows touching,
Next to the people we hate.
That is justice, too.
We must find relaxation in the realization that it is our time.
Our time to act,
And to win.
 
The healing must be now,
Arms forever interlocked with its justice.

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