To The Beat of Bee Wings

The town I'm from doesn't care about pesticides. It is not nice rich white suburbia. It is ripe with poverty, drugs, and violence.

Sauget, Illinois

(Incorporated as Monsanto in 1926)

(Not my town but close enough)

There is no March Against Monsanto here.

Hell, we are Pesticide City U.S.A., though most people here couldn't explain the definition of one. 

Greed and corruption coats the town and seeps into the community like the toxins they spray on their fields.

Just like the wilting brown petals of wildflowers, and the drenched translucent wings of damselflies, I too can sense the poison.

And we're all baking with chemicals under the summer sun.

There is no March Against Monsanto here.

So I march against corruption and injustice to anybody that will listen. 

I Investigate. I Educate. I speak the Truth. I Boycott.
I use money as a weapon of protest and buy heirloom seeds.

Sometimes I completely disobey. 

There is no March Against Monsanto here. 

So I march.

I shout with pesticide laden lungs for the dead insects, sick mammals, and the dying fish that have no voice in our world.

I march to my own beat,

To the beat of nature,

To the beat of Bee wings.