There is a different version of me that leaks out,
dripping ink on these pages,
hollow and raw,
saying all my thoughts.
A flow of words that may have never left my head,
if it weren't for the pages that you have read.
The contrast of dark streaks of ink on the white paper,
an art that I have learned to love,
a coping mechanism,
I can't do enough.
I hear the tick of a clock letting me know every second I am wasting as I scroll through my phone,
the slide of my finger against the screen,
the tap of my thumb as I message someone back,
artificial noise.
Some where there is a child jumping in new puddles,
playing in the soft mud of the Earth,
full of joy.
Some where a child picks springs new dandelions,
blowing on the fluffy seeds to make wishes.
Pledge your life to liberty and justice,
raise your hand and take an oath to serve and protect,
who are you protecting though?
I watch the news and see agents hurting the innocent,
children,
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