I tried everything to ignore it,

The Pain,

The Suffering,

The Discomfort.

I tried to draw,

But I drew crying children and saddened families.

I tried to paint,

But I painted works of navy, cobalt, and midnight.

I tried to sleep,

But I dreamt of broken homes.

I even tried to write,

But I wrote of lost children, shipwrecks, and hurricanes.

As my hope of escape faded I turned to creativity apart from mine.

As I put them on,

These large comfortable mufflers for my ears,

My senses were lulled upon sight of its cheap silver paint.

The varying stories they told hushed the wars,

Fed the hungry,

And arrested the crime.

I listened to the classics of Tchaikovsky,

And the alternative thoughts of Daughtry.

I worried myself with petty problems

From the lyrics of my playlist.

In this world,

I could change the disposition.

I could alter conflict whenever I wished.

This new world,

Was a world I could control at my fingertips.