Heaven’s in her eyes

I will call her angel when no one else will

She is beautiful, a savior, a reincarnation of some saint I will never meet

Stained glass irises, pretty lips offering salvation I don’t deserve

I will outline her silent complaints in charcoal so that everyone will have to see them

She’s not brave or loud or vibrant enough to make them listen

Someone has to

Smooth coffee flushes out bitter apologies

We’re not sorry for who we are

But sometimes bureaucracy forces you to conform

To say yes sir when you want to take a pastel lighter and burn this paper town to the ground

I will make sloping cursive into bold newspaper print

So loud they’ll have to listen

And they’ll be sorry they didn’t