Now I can think about the world, truly think about it.
This is what adult life is, right? A pigeonhole existence, and nomadic presence.
I can wish that the weekend should have been better, but I'll just put it to rest and move on.
Before you go on to tell me exactly why and how important it is, just hear me out.
My old escapes are like secret passageways in and out of my brain.
To work on Saturdays is as much fun as peeling peas from their pods is.
I am not a sleep lover, but who doesn't love a dream.
A world of justice is now an aspirational caricature on a graffiti wall.
Either we desperately try to make our dreams a reality or we give up on them casting them away as fantasy.
Poetry wasn't just some old pastime, it was an extension of my soul.