her

i know i should save her,

as her life lines fray. 

but her wicked and uncertain fingers 

weave an unpleasant tale. 

it’s easy to preach from 

inside of a church,

but it is much harder to care 

out here, surrounded by threats 

and needles 

planted in the dirt 

that prod at your ankles. 

out here, it is easy to 

forget how vital she is. 

out here, led by 

a man who’s 

heart beats to a 

completely different 

melody, it is easy to brew 

a hatred for her. 

i know i have.  

but no matter how miserable i am 

when i sit silently next to her,

i know i am more miserable 

sitting alone.