there is no hope in appalachia/
the next malicious fuck who tells me that it’s my job to be hopeful so i can pass that down to the kids i work with/
what does down mean/ like i am some hierarchal figure imbued with a protective paternalism/ that is disingenuous bullshit/ i know entire families who live in a car/ winter is dangerous/ you smell like old, wet leaves, and your coats are stuffed with cardboard/ your underpants are a tea-colored brown/
where is your fucking hope in that/ we tear our throats out/ when we die, no one knows/ our deaths make as much noise as a snowflake landing on your lover’s thin white lips/ in the winter, we shoot crows and then, we eat them/ that car you all live in a more tomb than car/
no one is going anywhere/ not you/ and not the goddamn crows you are shooting from the sky/
