Coco

We used to be seven

My curls used to be sunshine

Colored

You used to be stubborn

Naive stubborn.

The powder used to hit our knees

On the days

When we could eat lunch in four bites

It’s:

twisted

crinkled like

the leaves

they’re frail now,

on the edge

of not there.

scrolling photos

feverishly 

I heard from a guy who told somebody

Bout the deserts dry

And the forests muddy

But they forgot to tell bout the rainy skies

Hope always looks like 

something golden and beautiful and bright 

but Hope has just fallen 

her face streaked with dirt 

(i mean)

the work goes on

(in shouted songs & permanent marker protest signs

in places i'm not sure if i can still call home)

the cause endures

(in all the children born to these times and

What am I? 

A doormat for your shoes? 

Cobblestone for your steps? 

Am I meant for nothing more 

than a book, open pages, 

assigned by your english professor,