Writing

Sometimes it's hard to write poetry

It's almost like the words get stuck

in the folds of my mind before they reach the paper

Or maybe I just can't describe

memory

The sun is warm against my face

The sky is bright blue filled with fluffy clouds

The flowers bloom in every shade of pink, red, and yellow

The laughter of friends and family fill the air

Do you hear our voices? Our voices longing to be free? Our voices that are suppressed time and time again? Simply because of our identities?

I hung in the sky, frowning down at the city below me 

Scowling because Peter Pan went away. 

I had stretched, and my body had run away 

In the years since then. 

My body

drowning in a

hoodie and sweatpants

knowing it won't

and can't

muster the energy

to get up.

Not that I

need to.

It's the middle

of the night.

But it seems

She loves everyone,

so everyone loves her.

Even when she's crumpling inside,

She'll always show the side of her

that's always willing to be positive.

When you want to throw your world away,