Let them be as Deciduous trees
Always growing when it is easy
Never fighting to get out of winter’s cold and snow’s menacing grasp
I’d rather be a Evergreen
Proud and magnificent
like the stars my branches would strive to touch
To have the the power to weather whatever the weather
To have roots that reach deep within the earth
Down to the very center of it’s core
And can feel the great power right beneath me
I’d rather be an evergreen than a deciduous
I’d rather be an evergreen.
Ravaging to the bone;
Brain slowly encased
at the hands of
Dark smoke,
Forcibly forgetting
The birdsong at dawn
And the wolf howl at dusk
Leaving an incomplete shell
Keeping an imprisoned soul
Yearning to communicate,
Failing to feel
Only right two times a day,
That’s what all the world will say.
My arms lay broken at my side,
In broken glass my hands do hide.
A stray ball that came my way,
Broke my soul while kids did play.
Gears that used to fit so well,
Began to grind, that’s all I could tell.
I used to click so tried and true,
Now my state is oh so blue.
My way of life I could abide,
Now left with my tarnished pride.
We live in a country that advertises equality
But is that really the case?
Cases upon cases upon cases.
Most hardly even bat an eyelash
But some are viewed by the whole world
Two sides of the story
But only one is accepted
Women.
Fighting.
For their voices to finally be heard.
They don’t get any of the blame
But we do?
To us, they are loud and clear.
But to them, their screams cannot be heard from a mile away.
They ask what she was wearing.
They ask if she followed him into the room.
They ask if she lead him into the room.
They ask if she said no.
How is it always something we did?
But not them.
People look down on me,
never looked up to.
Sometimes they kneel down,
to help me.
Only when I’m a mess.
Do they care?
No.
Only when I get in the way,
in the way of their comfort.
Sometimes I’m perfect,
I feel pretty and people feel satisfied:
a win-win situation.
But most times
I’m just stepped on.
Dragged
through rain or snow,
dirt or mud
But
when I’m weak and tangled,
they will pretty me up into a bow,
maybe twice or thrice. However,
in the end
I will become loose.
Dragged and stepped on.
In a cycle.
So please,
be careful and mindful
of our feelings.
When we are stepped on,
kindly help us get back up
to be the beautiful selves we are.
Your shoelaces