Stream of consciousness ... Go—
The best days are ahead,
I know.
I think?
I hope.
But I want to be happy now.
And these highs and lows
are neither high nor low.
Everything is sustained by
nothing more than a monotone
heart rate while inside a voice cries
"static is suicide."

And I don't know if I am relieved
or offended that you didn't
think I was a cheerleader.
And I don't know why it even matters.
And my best friend let me down,
but I don't want to talk about it.
And how can someone get to know
me when I don't yet know myself?
And mom and dad,
there has been no drought. Consistently watered, my deeply rooted insecurities have only grown.
And most days I just want to go home, yet that very thought
is what drives me mad.

Give me something that
gets me out of bed.
I don't care if it cools my lungs
or burns my throat, just give it to me.
My hands are greedy,
my heart overeager.
Because even though Jack Kerouac
said that it is dreams that unite
all humans beings
and although I melt at that
beauty of that thought,
I want to be kissed in this life.
I want to be kissed today.
I wanted to be kissed yesterday.
How do you be an active participant
in your fate yet still let Destiny
do it's thing?

I don't want to live in cottony
allusions that are spun from
slumber and made into the
burdening burgundy sweater
I must put on to go outside.
My dreams don't release me—
they make me sad and sentimental.

Give me a life worth dreaming about.
A life to inspire dreams—
not a life lived with eyelids shut.