It's not easy.
We all falter, but in our own ways,
We're all okay.
From day to day, we embrace and
dance and intertwine over all the
cracks everyone notices but no one
bothers to mention.
Our boundless, mute thoughts
push quiet limbs into fluid motion over
everything we've come to accept about
broken faith and promises,
scattered in shredded heaps
on the bedroom floor.
We've bartered ignorance for
the Hope we once had.
Nagging, violent, bitch hope,
all buried now beneath a wealth of
Branding scars into those of us who
Still pray at night for truth
instead of salvation.
We are both captive and castaway,
(The truth hurts.)