Not the thieving kind.

All the pain there ever was.
I see it, and know it, and hear it when I drive around. 
When I acknowledge my place in The Collective. 
When I see the woman frail from a hard dealt hand,
scuffing across the overpass,
a mile or two from where I passed her by an hour prior. 
We all are led to the well (of pain) and have no choice but to drink. 

May our Joy not be of the variety that is ignorant of the pain of All Others,
But of the sort that is resistance.
A refusal to enter into an agreement with the systems that would quantify our value by access to Power and Privilege. 
May our Joy be BECAUSE life is pain.