Writing

I sit in my closet, my phone in my hands, dialing 911. Downstairs, I hear glasses breaking, tables and chairs being thrown and smashed against the wall, the man who broke into our home screaming. 

Once upon a lonely time

The moon fell in love with the sun

And so you see they were lovers

Once when they were young

But then they grew apart, you see

I just want to do something significant.  I

want to write something that matters, something

that makes a change for the good, but

I also want to just be me: I want to dream

I've gotten pretty good

At pretending

Some nights

I fall asleep

And wake up with 

Red puffy eyes

But I go to school

With a smile on my face

And hope no one notices

That a bit of light

I’m tired of being told

Not all men

There's still some them

That’s enough of them

I’ve had a enough of them

If a dog bites you

Everybody has a thing

Something they're good at

And something they love

It's their thing

Sometimes its sports

Or arts

Or humor

Sometimes it's just being

Loved

I don't have a thing