Writing

I've been buried for so long. 

By dead leaves, snow, and the weight of winter's thick, cold air. 

All of it holding me down. 

For months I stayed stagnant. 

Unable to move. 

You wrote a poem about me

It wasn’t very good

You said I made you a tortured poet

Then laughed

And it’s all a blur-

Isn’t it

(I don't mean any offense towards anyone, I swear)

Snow is melting out on the yard

Green grass shows itself to tired eyes

The winter was so long and hard

'Till your warm green powers started to pry.

It isn't fair

The school air

Hurts my arms

Hurts my head

Hurts my body

Hurts my face

Hurts my brain.

School air

Isn't fair.

Thank you Rosa Parks, for the good you did.

Thank you for standing up and fighting back.

Thank you for bringing a country to be proud of.

Though, I fear you wouldn't be happy with the turn we've taken.