I rub my face until eyelashes fall, but still no tears run.

I scream beneath the water, so no one can hear me.

Just one more minute, day, and year.

Just one more breathe, smile, and laugh.

Trapped in a system of pre-made judgments, requirements, and hopes.

I’m a blank page in a written book,

a butterfly without her wings,

as a sister without a friend.

The wind still whistles through the trees, and the wolf still howls at the moon, but people are not loving.

We impatiently march for change of the unjust, but if the rain begins to fall; we run home and hide beneath the covers.

As a violin with ripped strings, it’s hurt isn’t heard until it is played.

Vulnerable and naïve, I wish I could be

But people remain people,

And for every step upward, another must fall beneath