Creativity641

Finding hope can be hard sometimes, in this world where people are trodden on with little thought, and certainly no apologies. 

But I still try. 

Every day. 

I could ramble on all day about the ethics of all the things our country’s done. 

But I won’t. 

Instead I’ll say this one thing: it’s going to happen again. 

Walking home alone.

She spots a man nearby.

He whistles, shouts a lewd comment.

She tries to ignore him at first.

He yells again.

She calls back, laughing nervously, "Maybe another time!"

He doesn't listen.

I write longhand.

Journal, pencil, print.

Letters melding together in a harmony on the page.

Graphite scratching the paper, pencil sharpening every 5 minutes.

Lined paper, perfect for doodles and random thoughts.

When someone is sick, we say they're on Death's doorstep.

But aren't we always?

People always act like we're so far away from death.

But really we're not.

Justice must be served.

The man who shot her must pay the price.

Doesn’t matter if he was scared or not, she didn’t deserve this.

Nobody does.

That man needs to be brought to justice.