In the gym, watching the news about how aid is being suspended to Gaza, while Kesha’s “Joyride” plays in my ear — the remix version where “I’m a bitch” keeps looping over a dance beat that makes me want to move.

I catch myself thinking I’m living in The Hunger Games. I’ve never read the books, but if they’re anything like this — a privileged gay Hispanic doing lat pulldowns to the beat of “Joyride” and “Gnarly” while the world burns — then maybe I have.

Why did all this start? Why is war normal? Why does the separation of families spark excitement for some and sorrow for others?

Where is your heart? Where is your head? How can you say it’s what “God” wants, then look away when your child is raped by their uncle?

Why are we all liars?

Even when you say you’re not, you lie — because you secretly hated that I accused you of lying. But if you weren’t a liar, you wouldn’t be hurt by that. Hate. Guilt. Shame. Fear-based emotions — because you can’t handle the deep, dark truth inside your own body, or even what’s right in front of you; what’s right in front of me.

A candle burns — peppermint and eucalyptus. I want my home to smell cozy, but inside, I’m burning.