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There are so many ways I mourn for things in this world Sometimes, I cry and pound my fist in frustration about the wishes I didn't get
Sometimes, I sit in silence in the dark, contemplating when and where everything went wrong
Sometimes, I shift my hands to work and craft as many stories I could—toil takes precedence because I hoped to escape my roiling thoughts for food
Sometimes, and better yet, I close my eyes and sleep until I wake up years into thefuture with no memory of what hurt me
There are so many things which I mourn for —things I cannot have but the world told me to want
I mourn for the sun crawling through the sky day by day—lugging with it the time I couldn't earn back
I mourn for the scars from the wounds and beatings I took from life as well as the loss of innocence and ignorance of the time I knew no strife
I mourn for the shifting needs the dying stars of wants I mourn for the loss of the pieces of my soul I can't pick up I mourn for life I mourn for the dead I mourn for myself
