Hope is the thing that boils my blood when I see injustice in the world

Hope is the thing that keeps me up at night scratching at the innards of my body 

Because it craves to be free

Must we take the road displayed to us now,

With trim and tidy hedges to our side?

Curated by the hands that don't allow?

The hands that act if yesterday we died.

And if beyond we go this dreary road,

i stand 

heels sinking into the wet sand beneath

the tide rushes up 

passing over my bare feet

the water

clear and cold

fallen ashes, soot-covered letters
little bullets fly through
stained missing pieces
 
slices through
throat tightens
swirling, racing, losing hope
 
gently, seeds fold into the ground
peace lilies blooming

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. 

Hope is often used as a term to wish for something.

But hope is broad.

Vague.

Some people hope to win a sports game.

Dear sun,

Dear winds,

Dear world,

If you hear my plea, I ask of your help.

I’m losing my grip,

I’m falling,

     There is something about her, thought the universe as it sat perched upon the cliff of infinity.

The sun sets. 

A stunning watercolor effect paints the sky beautiful warm colors. 

A last hurrah before disappearing over the horizon. 

Then, 

there is moonrise. 

Even as we carry the whole world

On our backs, we

Breathe our girlhood through

Whispers and giggles at the lunch table and

Stars brushed across eyelids that have

i sit on the classroom floor.

the room is dark and cold.

i press my back against the wall.

the door is barricaded with a chair.

my teacher stands in front of it, as

Grass grows. 

It gets trampled into the dirt 

until it is dirt. 

It disintegrates and decomposes and falls 

apart, 

into the soil.