You convince yourself to stay where you are
because you're afraid of wading in waters you don't know.
You believe it won't be better than where you are now,
but you know you're not happy
You deserve better.

You feel ungrateful for what's be given to you,
but you matter too.
Unhappy is unhappy.
Don't let it sit. Don't let it dwell.

You convince yourself that certain things outweigh the others.
The small things matter too.
You're allowed to be upset,
but you'll never allow yourself.
You deserve better.

In the case of a senseless reality
Those who may indeed happily lie to me
Sly with a grin a twerk of a smear
You can lie for sure dear
But you’re just giving me more words to play upon a spindle of voices soon to be longingly forgotten
My strength only grows from the disdain of long slow days that take away from the beauty I seek
Perhaps those who thirst, prey upon the meek
Lies are fun indeed to play on...
But I dare not play with karma, for I’ve learned she bites back harder
So play me your lies for nothing can sure hide forever
I dare you to phase me, spare me the excess, except that is the truth.
Even truth said too soon
What would phase me even more,
The actions to match
But that’s just my thoughts a-running
I’ve got other things awaiting
I was taught,
Open your mind and protect your heart

©Jessica Stull

the leaders of tomorrow bravely take to the dais
justified their precious life,
     liberty and pursuit of happiness -
     stolen under their figurative nose)

     asper an unparalleled heist
recouping quintessential basic human rights,
     and will NOT yield an inch
     (or any other minuscule amount),

     if for no other reason
     (and many more valid claims prevail)
     such inalienable American birthrights

     (codified decrees endowing freedoms -
     tattered to shreds via frenzy of bullets)
     guaranteeing harm inviolable unjustly out priced
     sacrificed by lax second amendment spiced

within wanton murderous sprees wherein assassin
literally calls the shots (supplanting
     assigned storied halls with din
of fire arms (acquired

     from pennies on the dollar,
     or bartered for a bottle of gin
within the underbelly (viz black market)
     of society, where trigger happy jinn nee

     as slaughter sans killing fields mount
     with resignation vis a vis
     tocollective shrugging shoulders prithee
and upend safe havens i.e. storied academic re:

deuce sing self preservation (UNFAIRLY)
     to activist minded students tree
ting each day as a survivalist course, thus WE

as coined on legal tender (E Pluribus Unum)
MUST unite against love affair with pistols, no matter
     one or more mere mortals
     think Matthew Scott cray ZEE!

In the case of the 8-year-old little boy
The child who said he wanted to see
I am sorry I could not stop you, angel
From becoming part of this machine
To pull you from those cogs and screws
And cover your innocent ears
From the churning and turning of politics
Of old white men’s right-wing fears
In the case of the 8-year-old little boy
I know you want to fix the worlds scrapes
But the earth is not like your boo boo
And mommy’s desk doesn’t have enough tape
I am sorry I could not stop them, baby
From taking away your dreams
They would not listen to my screaming
They couldn’t hear mommy over the machine
In the case of the 8-year-old little boy
Don’t let that light die in your eyes    
I know the world can be a bully
But there was a time so was your mind  
I am sorry I could not stop them, sweetie
From saying all those bad things
An 8-year-old shouldn’t be hearing how
The government tears off angel wings.