FIREWORKS, STARS
I WANT TO FEEL SOMETHING BRIGHT AGAIN
I WANT A SWEET SONG TO WRITE AGAIN
LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TAKE MY HAND
LET'S CREATE A KINGDOM AND RULE OUR OWN LAND
WHISPERS AND LAUGHTER
SECRETS WE KEEP WITH THE HILLSIDE AND THE TWILIGHT
CONSPIRING WITH THE STARS
CARBONATION IN OUR HEARTS
MAYBE IT'S THE SUMMER, THE WIND, THE HEAT
THAT MAKES ME YEARN TO UNBIND THESE SHACKLES AND RISE TO MY FEET

I'm playing your game,
Trying my best,
Going through the process just like all the rest.
I went to my therapy,
I go once every two weeks,
I tell her my problems;
She tells me I overthink.
I am a machine, though my gears may be rusty,
I still cannot make my frenzied brain stop its running.
I tell her I'm trapped, I say I'm alone.
Our time runs out and again I'm isolated at home.
This neighborhood sleeps but my insomnia taunts me.
It's dangerous, being the only living thing around suburbia's zombies.
Handfuls of pills,
Stress ***** and writing.
I'm playing your game but it's hard to keep fighting.

I have told myself I cannot die until I meet Savannah
And walk her streets, feel her sand beneath my feet,
Tour the town I've only dreamt of.
Someone carved "LOVE HAPPENS HERE."
On a wooden pole at the dock
And I am determined to find the spot.
I have told myself I cannot die until I trace my fingertips over every splintered dot.
It may sound strange or silly
Saying "I cannot die until"
And placing my life in a town I've never met,
But I believe dear Savannah
Is where I need to be
To finally breathe and laugh and feel alive at.

I sit here in my room with 4 hours to my appointment, having not slept but stewed in my mind.


I wrote several stanzas following this but I can't. I can't. I cannot turn this feeling into poetry.

I am haunted by the knowledge: I was never meant to amount to anything. Child of a paralegal and a burnout. I will never amount to anything.

I cannot bring you into my world by any form of art.
This haunts me.
I cannot make you see my point of view, perfect sketch in point perspective, through pencil lines or paragraphs.
This wounds me.
I cannot make you understand that I am timidly, delicately passing my heart into your hands, so you do not know to treat it gently,
And this kills me.

I count up the artificial things in my life and cannot stop the sigh that passes my lips as I include myself in the endless list.