We all have become a movement; a fight for our own cause.
We all want so desperately to forget about the nights that give us pause,
I want to believe in the words that escape from us as we begin to wake,
I want to erase the words that remain from the haze of anger, but they won’t shake
You hold my little life in your huge palms, as I wonder when I lost sight,
You hold my hand and coax me to admit, coax me to stop the fight
“How are you?”
“Actually, I’m not doing so well.”
And with that small confession, I walk willingly into your arms.