Blind smiles and rising tides weigh a ton,
These days can barely even stand to look for fun.
Thoughts of clout curse success with trauma,
Everyday answers feeling more like problems.
Temples today pressed with guns,
I wish I could say, “I think Flint will get undone,”
That our horizons didn’t look dark, miserable and un-fun,
Like digesting a Honey Bun.
Usually try to keep my eyes open in defiance,
But lately they’ve been leaving my heart beepin’ and cryin’.
I think a lot about all of us dying,
No goodbyes to leave, just beds to lie in.
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Photo by Elijah O’Donnell