there is art swelling up inside of me

crying to burst forth

but how to capture it without injury

upon myself?

how to hold it still

from writhing fiercely in my small hands

like dying light and fading life

like grasping at the emptiest air

the cloud wisps high above give me vertigo from down here on stable ground

and when i close my eyes

the hearth inside my eyelids are lined with European countrysides

and African skies

like there are worlds squirming beneath my skin just waiting for me

to rule them

but what if i'm losing it?

and all along i've really been hollow

attempting to fill the space with all the things i could only pretend to fathom

speak

and nothing of worth transpires

sing

and it sounds as if i'm struggling to hum a tune

a tune that feels just like nostalgia

the kind of nostalgia only seen through a hazy blue and pink film

remember cotton candy on the forth of July and holding your best friend's hand

i can remember the feeling of it

can remember the time of day and where exactly i was when the song played

but it's blurred around the most important edges

maybe the worlds beneath my skin are not beautiful

and made to be ruled by my crown

but are ghost towns

every place that holds the bone dry

wood-splintered skeletons of what once thrived

every place filled with forgotten things

not important enough to carry to new bustling lives

maybe that's for the best

all of the writhing

all of the foolish struggling

but for now

right now

i still feel art swelling up inside of me

crying

and i don't care if it's just a feeling

i feel everything now

a/n: written when i couldn't stand the look of the future like an oncoming train and i'm frozen on the tracks and nothing would come out of my head because nothing i said seemed to mean anything or sound good and i just wanted to be okay.