Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Verse 1

I'm too self aware to write really fantastic poetry
It was better when I was younger, cliches didn't scare me
but now here I sit, one more night looking for an outlet, looking for a spark
turning the words, listening to Tori, and feeling things that are too much

I think Yorke said it best, "I can't shake that feeling, I could blow through the ceiling"
That was one of the best times of my life, 101 degrees at midnight, dust and lights
5,000 people, and I felt so alone, but somehow part of.

16 years old, sitting on my roof, memorizing stars and novas, I feel like that again.
Cool breezes flow around me, bring me back to reality.
Small breathing come from the room across from me, reminding me, once again, that I am not just me

A bicycle carrying the weight of too many packages. Hit a bump, everything falls off.
Rise and dip, once again that dream surfaces, the one where I live it up and do What I Want

But a small cry in the night brings it back. I comfort the fear, hold a small hand, and water soft hair with my own tears.
No matter how I fight it, this is where I belong. This is what I love. Chasing squirrels at noon, eating carrots on the carpet, feeling the intensity of being an Adult.

And there it is. The duality. The tug in one direction, the pull in another. Happiness, frustration, terror, peace, exhilaration, laughter.

"Where did the world start Mom, before dinosaurs?" And I remember what I do. I teach, I love, I yell, I channel.

Never stop, this is what I want.

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