Twenty Four Hours
They say, I've made mistakes yet I am not made of them
They say I am made of the same materials stars are
Most days I am a concoction of rough edges and smooth sand
Experiences and contradictions
Who I am is conglomerate
I am part of the apocalypse generation
We are fighters. We have survived raptures and doomsday-declaring Mayan calendars
And with ever bright eyes and young lungs we scream that the key to survival is adaptation
So who I am today will not be who I am tomorrow
Some days I am sand and roughness glued together by the pressure of definitions
Some days I am a burr caught in the tangles of my sheets
Some days I am the wild grass you cut down only to have grow back stronger
But some days I am much more than that
Planets do not wait until 12 A.M. to be born and the stars do not set a date on the calendar to explode
Time is money, they say. Time is lucrative and one day I will have enough diamonds to encrust on a golden watch
A ticking reminder that my new twenty-four hour day can start whenever I please
I do not have to wait for the hands to tell me so
These hands have never held a gun
But I would shoot every last star down from the sky
To start a new day with them as my countless suns
They say, show me who you are when nobody is watching and I will show you who you are
Who I was used to be faintly illuminated by the only light I let into my bedroom
The kind that filters faintly through rain-stained windows, dust sprinkled blinds, and curtains that haven't been drawn
Since I realized I could never paint my pain well enough to ever be an artist
We spend so much time wishing on a certain sunrise we fail to realize it may never come if we don't create it ourselves
Well
There's so much light it must be daybreak now
And I'm alone in the starlight glow when my heart begins to whisper
Who I am is not what they say
Who I am is me, right now creating light to begin each day
And every new day absolutely everything will change
Yet every day I will be more me than I have ever been