you're syrup that's too sweet for me. our souls are stuck, (without permission) wound and bound by cobwebs, curly q’s, dust clumps. but i don’t want the kind of love you can crush with bare hands. i want the good stuff, (not over-the-counter) the kind that weaves pages in leather-bound bowels.
all i have is sap for paint, blood for rouge, and glue to keep my eyes shut when they’d rather look at you.
I may not be a political science major, but I have a decent grasp of United States politics, and right now we're a mess. Anyone in the world can see it, since our political revels and defeats are always being splayed across news and social media. What's more: instead of trying to unite over common issues, we're pitching our causes at each other like weapons for war. The problem, in my opinion, isn't the mess; it's our reactions. Everyone has morals. Everyone has beliefs. Everyone thinks they're right. But what happens when there isn't only one answer? What happens when diverse groups of people are tossed together like a salad? Do they listen to each other before speaking or do they sit and scream accusations? At what point does the fence fall? In today's society, we're plagued by the illusion of binary systems. "Liberal" and "conservative" have become terms we use to describe our personalities rather than political standing. This d…
The bomb killed twenty two, twelve too young to drive. (Still dying.) On the coast, I hear it - blasted white caps ripping flesh. The fish they feed are dying too. At his concert, Matty yells, We’re proud to be from Manchester! The crowd spouts roses, glow sticks, and smoke. I leave - too dizzy to sing or think. Security stops me - checks my pockets for bombs - finds shards of the world. Why do you have these? They scream. I thought music would fuse them, I plead, reaching and pulling God from the smog, but they can’t see. They stumble and puff - too numb