The world is a war.
Children can't even play outside anymore.
Bullets fall down as easily as rain,
as fathers and mothers weep from the pain.
No more midnight movies,
or school day fun.
No more trips to the city,
to go on a run.
Bombs blow smoke clouds up in the air,
filling the air with such a despair.
The ground splattered blood red
and Nike Free blue.
Lunch halls with bullet holes
and soaked with spilled juice.
And the playground goes quiet,
just ghosts on the swings.
Not old enough to know what happened,
never even seeing sixteen.
And if you wonder why I worry,
and always want you safe..
It's stories like these,
that really make me pray.

Staring at my hands;
a realization that
the love line that runs
through my palm
is broken.

*So that explains it.

She was my best friend,
and I miss her more than can be explained.
We used to be like one person,
but now everything has changed.
She didn't talk to me for days
and acted like everything was okay
right before she went away.
I had to block it out,
I can only take so much pain;
Be taken advantage of,
so I spent every day,
wondering if I'd see her again
before she left for L.A.
But it didn't happen,
it hasn't happened.
We grew so far apart.
When I take time to think about it,
it honestly breaks my heart.
We weren't always there for each other,
we had other things we had to do.
But when it all came down to it,
we always saw each other through.
Not talking about the serious,
just made each other laugh.
And we'd always joke about how much we ate
and that we were gonna be so fat.
The truth is, I miss the simple stuff;
Not really talking about life.
Just going through each day one at a time.
And taking life with a grain of salt,
tequila,
and lime.

He wants the best for her;
but when he speaks,
I see a ghost.
He wants the best for her,
and she swears,
that she knows.
But I see her eyes glaze over,
sending her thoughts somewhere far.
As he talks about things she needs to do,
not even thinking of her scars.
Her bruises,
the ones you see and the ones you don't.
His words are sharp as a razors,
making the hurt seem to float,
to the surface.
More than once she has to hear,
of everything she didn't do.
"Don't you worry now, my dear."
Is what I want to say,
though she won't listen.
And sometimes my eyes glisten when hers glisten.
I guess I'm just more proud than I can explain.
I see the passion in her being,
swallowing all the pain.
She blocks it out,
and she's good at it,
I must say.
Dont listen to his words my friend,
he will finally see one day.