by Abigail
A bleak fractured world
Holds me hostage
Cloaks my armor
A world where it’s not okay to cry
and they tell you to stop acting like a fool
Where someone commits the barbaric act of murder
but they dismiss
Irony manifested into men with crisply starched suits
looks upon an unforgiving sadness of hostility
Of never knowing
If only the world knew that within the mask they hide
Is a heart
lathered in a coarse substance
that people call hope
A periwinkle birdbath
In desperate need of repair
hope takes on many forms
a squall of identity
assures me that the world
is not a happy place
but rather a place
of problems born anew
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