when i was little i
wrote poetry about
                                                  bugs.
i watched them
dance through the evening
                                                  sky
and­ at the time i
thought that they were
                                                  free.
free­, like i would grow up to be.

but i grew up and they
looked different to me
                                                  then.
the fireflies no longer would
dance for me, it was more
                                                  frantic.
l­ike they were trapped,
schitzophrenic, in cages of their own
                                                  making.
and­ i felt pity for them.

but now i see
that we all have
                                                  cages
and while everyone
around me is finding their
                                                  escape
i feel lost
between these narrow
                                                  bars.
i'­ve been here a long time

and i think i've
lost my
                                                  key.