They are screaming for me not to give up
Yet don’t you think two years is enough?
It’s tiring and wasteful
To lose my mind over appropriate metaphors
They tell me to always have hope
Because it’s the thing with feathers
But let me give my rebuttal
Emily Dickinson is not here to justify that line
She’s not here to give her explanation
She is not here to witness my deterioration
I honestly don’t know what to do at this point
I’ve declared I’m letting you go
When I am still holding on
Emily Dickinson says hope is the thing with feathers
But does she know that birds can fly away then fly back?
Does she know that your hope is torture?
And I’m the masochist embracing the pain
Yet I rather give in to the struggle
Than feel hopeless and empty
The last line reads: “it asked a crumb – of me”
And trust me you have every piece