I hear America sobbing the varied cries I hear,

The mother sobbing over a dying child, Children taken too soon, The children sobbing over lost 

parents, lost after “going to get the milk”, the teachers sobbing as the teacher has to defend the ones they teach as one kills the many, The doctors sobbing after telling a patient that they can’t treat them as insurance doesn’t cover the treatment, The 

Teenagers sobbing as people on social media tell them to kill themselves,The women sobbing over laws that restrict their right to their own selves, The friends sobbing over the death of someone the hold dear, Thinking they could’ve saved, or should’ve been then more, The Judges Sobbing over 

sending someone to jail knowing they aren’t guilty, The neighborhood sobbing over another cop calling as the neighbor beats his wife or sells drugs, The towns sobbing over another shooting that being the fifth one that week, I hear America sobbing over another school shooting that being the 41 one since the start of 2024, I hear America sobbing as 

classics get banned and can’t be taught anymore,

I hear America sobbing over the millions of 

americans who can’t be who they want to or love who they want,  The day belongs to the wealthy, and the night to the somber, angry, and depressed,

America’s the greatest country “Yea right” I say, 

The sobbing tears of Americans stream down cheeks as America “keeps surviving just not thriving.”

The kitchen wears a shroud of blue,

Where shadows stretch and dust motes play,

Until the silver steam breaks through

To herald in the coming day.

A rhythmic pulse, a steady drip,

The scent of earth and roasted bean,

A silent, dark companionship

Before the world invades the scene.

The porcelain is warm and deep,

A steady weight against the palm,

To rouse the mind from heavy sleep

With bitter strength and liquid calm.

One sip to thaw the frozen thought,

Another for the strength to rise;

The small victories, dearly bought,

Reflected in the morning’s eyes.

I never really understood you. Everything you said for me to do, I did. But yet it wasn’t good enough for you because I wasn’t a boy. But oh how you loved to tell my father how you always wanted a girl. But then you treat her as lower than she is, less than her weight in gold. And honestly it is getting old. You drove me away into the arms of my mother and I live a much better life, with my mom I feel as safe as I am sound, but what I don’t understand is how you sleep at night. You call yourself a wife when all you do is fight. It’s a constant battle and something always rattles. The way you can be so mean and then expect everything to be smooth and clean. I realized you’re a manipulator long ago, so now I’m in a different home. Away from you, your son, and the place you call a home. They say the house in the heart but there wasn’t a single piece of art that came close to making me feel that way. I realized who I am and I found myself on my own, at my own pace, I’m not who somebody wants me to be, not somebody you created an image of, I’m my own person and I found my own way, in my own life, with my own time, and my own experiences that you wouldn’t dare let me have in “your house”. When I came home that evening sunburned, you slapped me and called me stupid till my arms were numb, my chest hurt, and my back blistered. Yet, my father believed you. You lied to his face and he ate it up like it was something true— when clearly my body told otherwise. But he didn’t believe it, you said I fell— so I left the second I got that chance. I left in that car. So I ask you… how do you sleep at night knowing how much of a monster you are?

The story I am telling you is one of a butterfly.

His wings were a pretty shade of violet,

Royal and bright, seen from above in the sky.

Well, one day this butterfly was upset,

His wings were torn and he did not understand.

The pretty wings were unusable to his regret,

Streaked with the red done by the humans hand.

No matter how hard this butterfly wished to fly,

The wings would not move at all.

The butterfly grew sad as he climbed up high,

A branch up here would be quite the fall.

But, before this butterfly could try to glide,

A small moth came to his tree.

This moth saw the butterfly and cried,

“Don’t go! You won’t be free!”

The moth flew up to the butterfly,

Using his silk and a small needle to sew up his pretty wings once more.

The butterfly was patient as he regained his ability to fly,

The moth stayed with him until he was ready for.

When the day came that the butterfly could use his wings again,

The moth smiled and allowed him to go.

Now, the moth was no longer alone having found a friend,

And he had a smile all the due.