There’s not a chance
For things to just turn upon
They don’t just flip on
You gotta carry on

I’ve met the worse
I’ve met the best
But everything
Just leads to a mess

I wonder to myself,
Everyday day to midnight,
If things would’ve been,
Just a tad bit easy.

Would I be her
Writing a poem
About the failures
Of flipping stones
Standing rocks
And rivers beaming

Would I be here
Writing a poem
Of men screaming in glee

Would I have known
What it meant to be free?