why does the world sometimes seem to work against us?
why can we never get even the bare minimum of what we want?
why does it always have to be hard, all of the time?
why can’t it sometimes be easy, or better?
i wish i could grow wings
big fat ones, black and sleek and powerful
to beat up and down, to fly up
and catch roses and crumble them hard in my hand
to see the beautiful petals ooze from my fingers
for some little thing
to make me stop crying
i’ve never wanted to grow up more in this moment
which is stupid to say,
because it only gets worse
it seems i am locked in a straightjacket
each year, with a different set of values
running and banging my head against the wooden door
i get my hopes up too easily
thinking that maybe kindness will prevail
but every time, every time
my hopes implode
because of others
leaving me with a debris that i must pick up myself
i think i know, deep down
that the mess will come
but i never seem to understand how to stop it
how to quell it
maybe it’s because
i used to only know how to feel