Lotus

They say 

America was raised 

By our founding fathers 

And I'm sure it was 

But what about it's mothers 

Tell me, am I not the only one who is sick of these damn old men deciding what women are going to do with their bodies?

If only I could hug

The stars;

Perhaps I could shatter them

And cup the shards

In my palms,

The cracks constellations

Aligning with my veins,

But that isn’t close enough

 “It was her fault

She was wearing that skirt

Practically asking for it”

No

No she wasn’t

She was 15 years old

Content Warning: This details my experience during a school lockdown that we presumed at the time to be an active shooter (it was not). There is no actual violence in this; there is only the dread of not knowing.

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If to be a sonnet is to be vain, then to be a sonnet is to be a friend. 

If to be a limerick is to be laughed at, then to be a limerick is to be a child.