Underneath our ceilings,
We’re too busy to feel feelings
Crafting fires, sculpting waters
Assembling ways, breeding colors
Underneath our bloodlines
We’re the soldiers assigned to the war—
Juggling weapons, battling grief
Saving lives of our fellowmen
Underneath the hands of a clock
We’re the fastest in the race
But we’re the last to finish
Yet, we believe we're champions
With bursts of color, like party confetti
For we feel it
May 5, 2025
May 5, 2025 at 10:13 AM UTC
Underneath our ceilings,
We’re too busy to feel feelings
Crafting fires, sculpting waters
Assembling ways, breeding colors
Underneath our bloodlines
We’re the soldiers assigned to the war—
Juggling weapons, battling grief
Saving lives of our fellowmen
Underneath the hands of a clock
We’re the fastest in the race
But we’re the last to finish
Yet, we believe we're champions
With bursts of color, like party confetti
For we feel it
A poem for a painting
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