Lying awake at night
causes one to face their darkest fright.
Whether it be school or bills or paying the rent,
everybody needs a way to vent.
Somewhat hopeless and all alone,
with no voice on the other end of the phone.
How can I express what I feel inside?
It seems like a part of me has died.
I write because it makes me strong,
and then I can endure the weeks so long
Every week my grandpa writes poems for the kids at church,
as they listen attentively like birds on a perch.
He inspires me to write what I think,
even though it feels like I stand on the brink
of everything collapsing around me.
But that is not who I want to be.
I want to be free,
Free to be me, free to see,
The world in a way that has a happy ending.
Instead of one that needs constant mending.