Cold water feels warm when

you’re freezing.

A kiss feels like a bullet if you

were born in war.

Leaves taste like cake if you’re

starving,

And anything can look like God if

you’ve never seen Him before.

A drunk man might mistake

the road for his bed.

A grieving family might bring

flowers to where once lay his head.

Death, if you’re suffering, might

feel like a twisted version of

Robin Hood.

Kindness, if you’ve never known it,

might feel so good.

Water to a drowning man means

nothing.

Water to a burning man means

something.

Victory to a dead soldier feels

like Sisyphus pushing the boulder.

“Oh, we won? Great, now I get to

grow older!”

If you’re desperate, you can make

hell feel like heaven.

If you’re desperate, you can make

heaven feel like hell.

(If you really don’t care, just shrug your

shoulders and say, “Oh well.”)

One day, I think I’ll write about

the girl I see in my dreams chasing

butterflies.

I’ll emphasise all the good parts and

leave out the part where she dies.

One day, I think there will be meaning

to all the tears my people are crying.

(Notice, that’s the same thought the man

in handcuffs had before the police claimed he

was defying.)

(Later, the department would justify the

pressure they were applying.)

A gun feels light if you were born

holding one.

When they ask, “If you’re not the

suspect, why did you run?”

They don’t think about all the fear

they’ve caused with the things they’ve

done.

One day, I’ll leave the girl in my dreams

out of the poem and just write

about the butterflies.

One day, the world will be a good

place, and I can just write about

butterflies