but people like us...
we’re the clouds
before a storm
long dreaded
for our existence
we’re the flowers
plucked
and then left
to die
people like us
dont seem to be necessary
we’re not wanted to be heard
better quiet
silenced by a pacifier
of “youre the problem”
strength
robbed from us
yet we resist the urge
to release the hurt
even though we’re almost
letting go









