Oppressed, but trying.

When my mind is idle it will always be

found hiding in the mountains.

When my mind is working diligently

it will always be wandering back home

to find the clean air and gritty soil.

To rest in the quiet isolation of a

teeny , tiny, cabin.


As my mind snaps back to the reality

of a messy desk in a teeny, tiny

cubicle I feel a wave of nausea.

The exit to my cubicle has

been replaced by

a cold, course, brick wall.

I examine each brick.

Not at all sure where I fit in.

Feminism. ISIS. Ignorance. Hatred. Black lives matter. Education. Gun control.

Same-sex marriage. Immigration. Health care. Death. Dying. Oppression.


I breathe in sticky-sweet anxiety.

I breathe out smooth, bitter rage.

and then I break


I am stopped in the middle of a busy street

looking for answers to a question that I cannot find.

Oh, but momma I’m trying.


About kscoughlin2013

I'm a full time college student studying English Literature and Secondary Education, a part time dreamer, and occasionally I write a decent poem or take an okay picture.
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