a little tragic

There’s a light out in the hallway,

There’s a half-empty bunk bed,

There’s a boy barely a man

Who learned to live with ghosts at ten.

He was sweet before he lost the only person left who liked him.

He was good before the world decided he’d always be bad.

He was kind before they took all that he had without permission.

He’s in love, but he knows better than to go and tell her that…

And it’s all a little tragic—mourning doesn’t make us knights.

It’s a sentence we were sworn from the moment we were born,

We were made to burn and breathe and love and die.

There’s a girl with no convictions,

There’s a legalistic church,

There’s a longing for belonging,

There’s a fear of being hurt.

She is sweet, but all the men around her tell her to be sweeter.

She is good because she’s scared she won’t be loved if she is bad.

She is kind despite the way the elders act without permission.

She’s in love with the one boy she knows that she could never have…

And it’s all a little tragic—mourning doesn’t make us knights.

It’s a sentence we were sworn from the moment we were born,

We were made to burn and breathe and love and die.