I Wrote So Hard...

A poem by Faith Nyre

My hands shook
Got part-time carpal tunnel from gripping my No. 2 with
Enough might to mirror cowardly agents of chaos
We aim, they shoot, and never treat the wounds

My fingers swelled
And the ring on my hand
Became a boa constrictor, cutting off circulation
Finally getting a chance to seize its prey and stop
The fight

My ink bled
Through the pages and I scoffed at the resemblance
On how it roleplayed blood shed
407
Years
Months
Days
Minutes
Seconds ago

I took no breaks ‘til my stomach grumbled
And I fed myself with poker chips
Because they solved my food desert problems
With a casino

My pages sagged
With the weight of my words, the world, the responsibility
Of it all

I wrote so hard I asked myself if it would ever be enough.