To Teach A Hundred

To teach a hundred with split-lips, shin splints, and sore throats. With words constantly begging revision. With all our desires dressed in our basements pride? So anyone that ever wanted change would hear a voice that sounded the same as theirs. The question has never been whether or not hope would remain, but if we can gather enough in our hands to match the fire in our lungs. We keep time with songs on repeat. We keep warm with the words that we scream. Hope is a crutch. Push your desires. Our words are fire.