I have a pen
By my bed
Stuck up with
A pad of empty sticky notes
And behind
A drawing my mother gave me
Are sticky notes
Upon sticky notes
Full of words
And ideas
When I fall asleep
I’ll grab one
And write a word
Or two
And in the morning
I’ll turn them into poems
Cause sometimes
The dreams turn in to magic
And I want to be there to write it down.
I learned to cry without my eyes turning red
Letting tears run down my face
Silence can be agony
I cover up my tears with a smile pasted on for all to see
But no one sees me
I put on a mask
The day I heard the news
I almost thought I was dreaming:
I couldn’t imagine
Our country
Like I do now
I thought America,
Though not great,
Was good
I trusted
In humans
Exhaustion
Like a blanket
It makes it hard to stand straight
Or say what I believe
It gets you sick
With mistaken beliefs
Because your courage to fight them has gone with your energy
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