Writing

Dear America,

I am but a Nation of creation under shared, 

My words and actions treat me as though I am unprepared. 

I know these shoes are bigger than could ever meet my feet, 

Every day, I sit and stare

at you talking about what others consider nonsense. 

I'd call you a wordsmith,

Staged-like words flowing off the tip of your tongue. 

I hunch in the corner of the group,

I came to sit by you everyday,

Listening to your laugh,

Imagining what it'd be like if we were friends,

Knowing you don't feel the same. 

I have never wanted

Something more than I do now

The problem is

I don't know what

I don't know what

I long for

What I reach for

It's like a dream

Blurry and unrecognizable

I want this thing

verse 1:

I stand alone in this empty field

Wondering what it would be like

If we were all hand in hand

If we were all so nice

There's so much hatred in this world

And yet, so I see