My soul yearns for what I do not have,
And I am most inspired by nightfall.
Father asks why my light remains on until 2am;
He says I’d feel better if I got more sleep.
But I like to speed on the freeway
Until the flashing headlights become blurs,
And I prefer to dance alone in my room in the dark
Than allow my dreams to be made on autopilot
Behind my closed and negligent eyelids.
There are endless things I’d like to do:
Like sing in front of people, and write songs
And novels to be made into Hollywood films,
And a dark-haired boy I don’t know,
But with whom I think I’m in love.
If I learned to be content with what I have,
I’d never feel resentful towards myself
For not being as perfect, polished, and spotless
As I desire every day to become.
But gratefulness is something to be learned,
And I’d rather learn to write stories so profound
That one hundred years from now,
Students in whitewashed classrooms
Will complain about reading them for homework.