Why do we write?

Why does poetry exist?

"Poetry is useless"

Well this world is fruitless

These words I speak, type, write

my only sense of light

Our only way to fight

in this distopia we call a country

... Those men stood there side by side

risking their life for pride.

but society lied

and sunk them into a mental suicide. 

Terrified

Petrified. 

No one by their side.

Alone.

She wakes up to think

"who will I be today?" 

As her self confidence decays

What makes this okay?

There she'll lay,

cold, naked on the floor

gasping for a sense of peace

through this war.

Looks into the cracked mirror

seeing bruises stretched along his pale skin

wondering where god has been

his hope gets thin.

hears his mother scream 

his father fills with steam,

the shouts become extreme

he wants to intervene.

But he can't.

None of us can.

Society is like a one sided clan

we can't make a plan

because none will work...

So how?

How will we be heard?

How will we ever be as free as a bird?

It all starts with a word.

Then two.

Then the two words turn into a stanza

The stanza multiplies

Then all of a sudden,

the truth is created from all of those lies

we hear everyday

no matter what they say

We just keep writing

our pencils can't stop

our fingers keep typing

We're finally harvesting the crop

of the true meaning of Freedom of Speech

We finally can listen to our hearts

Society can't tear our souls apart

We're finaly not alone.

"Why does poetry exist?"

Poetry is an art

and it's a start

for a change.