I have this idea of who I am
and what I want
with no idea how to get there
my dreams are kept on
the highest shelf
in the darkest room
so meticulously
out of reach
focused on the unattainable,
I’ve forgotten that there's a
step stool to the left,
in the corner—
ambition, they call it
once thought of as a good thing,
I am now drowning under
this incandescent desire
to be special
water rushes into my lungs
and I'm gasping in hopes
to be noticed when
all I really want is sleep
and all I really
need is peace