I will fight forever
When it seems like all is lost I will fight harder
When I trip and fall I will bleed words and be stronger
When I can no longer write I will speak until they cower
When my ideas are all long gone I will pass on my plans with honor
I will not give up until we have finally won
And even once we win peace we’ll always be ready
“Do not worry my dear, speak with your hands and use your power.”
Cursed.
Am I cursed?
Cursed to tie myself to people, swearing that they’re going to be different.
Only for resentment to grow like ivy, sentencing me to a place of discontent.
I’ve called it paranoia.
When I think of the color green, I think of the trees behind my school. In kindergarten, when kids were cruel and words hurt more than sticks or stones, the trees were there.
I made tea this morning.
I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.
I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.
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