writing makes it real

I sat down to write a poem about politics,

About how our country is tearing itself apart,

About how we’ve tried to glue pieces back together,

About how somehow it’s already been a year.

And how we still have three more to go.

I sat down to write,

But I couldn’t.

I could only sit here in the corner of the school library,

Frozen.

Covering my face as tears streamed down my cheeks,

As a lump formed in my throat, threatening to choke me.

I sat down to write a poem about politics,

And the insanity and suffering finally caught up to me.