I heard the hope is a thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
And I can certainly feel something fluttering
Stuttering like a heart with no metronome
But the closest thing I hear to bird song
Is the A minor scale of these accordion lungs
Trying to breath slowly, sore from screaming
Breathing shallow like a drowning sea, crashing
Take deep breaths that feel like they could break this ribcage
Be careful...
But I'm not sure there's any hope left to escape
I hope I haven't given up
At least not on them
I have given up on myself over and over again
But I will always believe in my army of tired eyes
Soldiers screaming the truth while gagged with lies
Fighting a civil war against themselves and the world
I won't give up
For the kids who wear rope burn necklaces
Like medals that they still made it through
For the people who live on the edge of a pill bottle trying not to fall in
While taking drugs with a side effect of dizziness
I'll keep hoping for you
For believing that the rain is playing the percussion of washing away
That our fingertips are like maps of the paths we take
For teaching me that hope isn't a bird
It is the feeling of holding hands
That turns falling into skydiving
It's the feeling that people who are barely surviving
Will take the time to hold on to you even when they're trying to keep their entire world together
That is the definition of hope
Not the words in the dictionary
But the four lead clover pressed in the pages
That echoes
"good luck"