Writing

I watch her sob in the night

Her fingers clutching a photo of her love,

Pressing it to her chest,

As if paper could soften the ache.

She whispers their name in the dark,

The sky spreads itself wide,

a canvas, breathless and unspoken.

As dusk dips its brush in purple and gold.

Each cloud is a stroke,

soft as whispering wind,

brushing fingertips against skin

cold as ice.

lying here, late at night

cold as ice.

the second his sweatshirt was absent

~F

i felt so numb when he told me

that he used to feel the same. 

honestly, i should've expected this, yet im shocked.

This statue is a woman.

She’s the symbol of the USA.

Yet people refuse to acknowledge her daughters.

The Lady Liberty, huh?

You know what that makes me think?

The one free woman.

Yeah.

Love is hard, hatred is easy.

How am I supposed to love the girl who pushed me in the hallway because I like reading about dragons? It’s much easier to hate her.