i can't cry you a river,
i don't have that many tears left to give,
but i can cry you a poem.
i can sift through our memories
drown in our old love,
and cry because it's all gone.
i don't have that many tears left to give,
but i can cry you a poem.
i still have words
and rhymes and
way too much time.
i don't have that many tears left to give,
but i can cry you a poem.
i can take you back to the old days,
love letters and lip gloss
and sweet innocence.
i don't have that many tears left to give,
but i can cry you a poem.
maybe not a sonnet,
and i can't sing, so it won't be a song,
but it'll remind you of spring and summer and good.
i don't have that many tears left to give,
but i can cry you a poem.
a poem that i can throw in your face,
to make you regret the fights,
the cold, the shattered pieces of me.

i don't have that many tears left to give,
because i cried them all that night.

we try so hard to create art,
to bless the world with thoughts of awe
instead of anger,
thoughts of peace despite violence.

we pour our souls into poetry,
letting the world think our thoughts,
letting them into us,
if only a moment.

we lose ourselves in paintings,
infusing them with our emotions,
hoping that people walk in our shoes,
even if they must take them off eventually.

we give our hearts away through music,
so that everyone feels the warmth
we have for them,
so that everyone feels loved and seen
while they listen.

we chip off pieces of ourselves
to put in everything we create,
in hopes that people learn to understand others
despite differences.

and yet, people insult our pride and joy,
they tear down our art,
and scoff at our passion,
as they turn their heads away
close their minds,
and hold on tightly to themselves.

so we realize that despite our efforts,
despite giving ourselves to the world
in selfless pieces,
the world cannot become as beautiful
as our art
as long as people refuse to see it.