Chasing Injustice

If emotions are like rain, yours are probably drizzle to my hurricane (John Green reference-anyone?).
I'm the girl you see crying into her popcorn at the theatre if the movie is even a tad-depressing. I'm the girl who jumps up and down with excitement at the beauty of a butterfly fluttering by. I'm the girl who talks a little too loud and uses a little too many hand motions. Yeah, that's me. On an emotional scale of 1 to 10, I'm 20, which is why when I really care about something you'll know because I won't shut up about it.
I have made it a habit of mine to peruse the news at least every other day to keep myself up to date with the world. I like being informed-knowledge is power after all. However, lately after clicking out of Daily Beast or Aljazeera, I find myself depressed with the state of the world. The carnage in the Middle East, the epidemic in East Africa, our country's own inept Congress. There is so much suffering, so much blindness, and, at the thought, I can't help but feel several hundred emotions at once.
In the face of so much negativity, I feel powerless, yet I want to do something about it. I feel: anguish, disgust, sympathy, sadness, grief, anger, contempt, guilty, anxious, fearful. I think that these emotions, this passion that I feel towards injustice, whatever that maybe and wherever that may lie, should be an important factor in my job. If my career does not contribute to the betterment of the world or to the betterment of lives,  or worse, with the destruction of them, I do not want to have anything to do with it.
Unfortunately hurricanes are not the neatest of natural disasters, but hopefully I'll be able to organize my emotions to effectively assist the world. I'll become a rainstorm slowly eroding layer upon layer of human disasters to find underneath something good, and pure, and beautiful.

Of me, for you
I am made of tears
Uganda, Darfur, Somalia
China, Malaysia, Thailand
I am of you
Yet I cannot stand and reach the sky
My fingertips azure with longing
Empty of hope
I wear their bones around my neck
Of children and sweatshops
Of prostitutes and bamboo huts
Of slaves and packed dirt
I tread in suffering
For silk and coil
For jagged edges and cogged parts
For wasted slivers and sweat
I am for you