I think I’ll drop guitars
Watch them fall and crack
Strangers would pick them up
And pluck a broken tune
Upon their broken necks
And sit with broken bones
Singing broken words
Their minds broken long ago
By ******* politics
Crushing voice and body alike
Breaking bones into conformist shapes.
Their broken dreams
May yet be given
Wings of grace and flight
Their broken eyes
Might just yet see the light
And perhaps,
Perhaps,
There’s still some hope
For these bones
To heal some.