there’s this idea, tucked in the corner,
only to be touched in times of need or anger or despair
kept under a blanket of hope
the intangible becomes tangible
and what cannot be seen is seen.
through those long nights of tears
through those long nights of heavy breathing,
it lifts me into the sky when i’m pounded to the ground
it creates dreams of wispy clouds and beautiful trees
I Can Be
the idea that
no matter how many times I feel as though I don’t
people see the outside, quiet and barely alive
but the idea lies dormant to be awaken in the right place
at the right time
i will hold the idea, cradle it, love it.
if it dies, i die
when it wakes, i will wake from the eternal slumber; the only thing i have known.
i will be born again, into who I know I am meant to be.
This Is Not Me,
it’s nearly my being, waiting for something better
someplace i can be free and me
one day, it won’t be an idea, but