Writing

It's too late to be awake.

Devastation crawls in the wake

of everything.

My eyes are burning

physically, actually

in no poetic manner

my eyes are burning with 

Today felt the same as yesterday  
Nothing changed 
But there was a silence 
That echoed in the voices 
I heard 

Today felt as if nothing changed 
I got up brushed my teeth 

The leaves are dying. I know there is a future for them, even if it is months away. I would like to believe that there is some future where I will not be sick all the time.

This morning I woke up at six am. The country was bleeding pomegranate red and I, so sure we'd be drinking in a giddy paradise blue, stared blankly for minutes if not hours at the flashing computer screen.

My little sister 

Only 7 years old 

Innocent 

And yet strong willed 

She will grow up 

In this country 

With this president 

This person who calls himself 

When the sons come for me, do not say you are surprised,

For I have taken a vow of pain

Hand flat-placed, an oath, a promise

To fight with pen and soliloquy.

For what is anguish?