maelynslavik

smoke bleeds through the sky like marker does to paper

tearing, thrashing. 

breaking, bashing. 

the birds are sad.

it's hard to catch the people undistracted,

but they too are sad.

Hope always looks like 

something golden and beautiful and bright 

but Hope has just fallen 

her face streaked with dirt 

Body 

My body 

the one I don't really like anymore 

maybe I use to like her 

when I was younger and no one really cared 

if you had stomach fat or things that jiggled or a flat nose

(i mean)

the work goes on

(in shouted songs & permanent marker protest signs

in places i'm not sure if i can still call home)

the cause endures

(in all the children born to these times and