Writing

Next week is the dance

and you cut her off

Next month is my birthday

and you tore her heart from her chest with your own two hands

Next year is high school

Have you seen dreams?

I found mine

Living among the snow

Which was barren

Which held no glow. 

It was very bright-

The dream that is-

Kind of light 

"I love you"

You say.

Coming from you it's

Bittersweet.

I always return the gesture 

Of course.

I do, after all.

But how can I forget?

Dear dad,

Empty as a glass

Thoughts? Nothing left to sip now

Just the ullage left. 

I could ramble on all day about the ethics of all the things our country’s done. 

But I won’t. 

Instead I’ll say this one thing: it’s going to happen again.