I am the bird that everyone knows.
Never sees, only feels my presence.
Visible in your mind, noticeable in your heart.
My wingtips are dashed with anxiety,
my tail feathers streaked with frustration and loss.
On my back, I am speckled with distress and pressure,
unavoidable.
I am cursed;
you are cursed.
I am cursed to live with you,
with everyone.
You are cursed with my presence,
but you can adjust to let me fit
make room
even though I'm unappreciated.
I am here
no matter what.
Ad astra
Latin for to the stars
something that we've never done yet
but we've gone near.
We've never gone to the stars
we've reached the not-quite-emptiness that surrounds them.
I don't know what this is
whether it's summer really sinking in
or if it's something else
something more
something worse.
I don't want to turn into this
a puddle of negative feelings and boredom.
Everyone always thinks that people act a certain way to please the people around them
to code switch to what everyone else would want
to blend in
and that's what I do, too
except most of what I do
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