They don’t write songs about
Girls like us
The quiet ones
In clean air
And green trees.
They remember
The deep city breathers
The bottom benders
Needle shooters.
No one takes us
Down with them
Grave stories
We feel it too
The heaviness of strife
We taste the blood
Of our enemies
Lips sewn shut
We watch mountains crumble
And dark clouds
Fill the ocean
Venom slowly creeping
Into our veins.
We see the scars
On their wrists
The heaviness
Of their eyelids.
We feel the pull
The allure
Of easy answers
And push the pain
Down our throats
Swallowing our emptiness
As we lie our heads
Down to sleep
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