Francesca Grace is 17 and spends most of her days up the street from her house meditating and writing away, when she’s not volunteering. She just wants people to feel free. 

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Perpetually
As I pass lightly on my way
Since when a thing is destined it must be
Shortly after midnight fled the city
In the dust of my yesterday
Fast as ever
Night was short
And nearly day
Wherefore with the loss of life
Till fortune caught he in a tangling snare
Morning grey and fiery
Silver droplets hanging off feeble leaves
Mind the point of desire
Ridden to fields of sunlit dreams
Lustful heart
Wandered up and down
Near the fighting of death where no man might see
All time unlocked
Having roamed the spirits of day
Sighing in cruelty
Beyond reason
Wretched
Dart struck through faithful
Swaddling
You are the cause
Cold and sudden
A wicked crave you caught
For what
To suffer all this pain
What a weapon to be alive.

-f.g