sometimes I grope for words
and laugh at myself afterwards.
(because I’m supposed to be a writer, aren’t I?)
other times, I sit on the chipping green bench
and pretend to stare at the birds
while I tap
tap tap
inside my head and live a different life.
I let words and colors drench me
(chrysanthemum, holly, periwinkle)
as I suffocate under the rules.
because I am not uniform—
I am the beads that fall from a loose necklace,
a swarm of thoughts and starry nights,
the weeds that grow under your house and up
your walls.
how do you tell someone
that you dream because you want to escape?
because this little, broken world is not enough,
and we’ve already begun to burn.
and laugh at myself afterwards.
(because I’m supposed to be a writer, aren’t I?)
other times, I sit on the chipping green bench
and pretend to stare at the birds
while I tap
tap tap
inside my head and live a different life.
I let words and colors drench me
(chrysanthemum, holly, periwinkle)
as I suffocate under the rules.
because I am not uniform—
I am the beads that fall from a loose necklace,
a swarm of thoughts and starry nights,
the weeds that grow under your house and up
your walls.
how do you tell someone
that you dream because you want to escape?
because this little, broken world is not enough,
and we’ve already begun to burn.
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EvaPrinceCharming
Jan 23, 2022
This may be my favorite thing I've read on Young Writers Project so far. I really feel and understand what you are saying. I often feel that there is a place in my head I go when I'm alone and crushed by the broken parts of the world. I really dislike all the groups and categories we put things in, why can't I be all of those things and none of them too.