For many moments I sat waiting,
So adept at standing still; So certain all worth chasing Boiled down to just some time to kill.
But all I’ve lived was just prefacing,
Life a writer with a lethargic quill; Maybe we’re on to demonstrating That even characters can have a will.
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I can’t always wait for freedom
As I’m tightening my chains Or call for allies to remove them When my list of foes has all the names
It’s up to me to hoard the bobby pins,
To find the key to ease my pains; It’s up to me to unlock prisons, And remember there are sunny days.
Today I want my kings and castles;
Or sorcery, or laser rifles; I want a world that isn’t mine Where I’m more me than I’ll ever be In the world waiting for me outside.
I want to have a sea foam house,
Just a walk down from the beach: A decor of shells and ocean air; Sand in corners that I never reach.
I want to have a summer home
In a place where winters wander long: Forget about the burning sun; Forget the haze that’s rarely gone.
I want to have a place my own,
Where the rules are mine to make; Where the experiences go beyond the door, And none of the truths inside are fake.
I want to have my sea foam house;
I want my peaceful beach. I want to know I have my place; And that who I am is never out of reach.
If I’m going to cry,
Let it be where none can see; Let the wind come, wipe them dry These eyes that betray me
Let the storm come, let it flood;
Let it be what it will be. Somewhere surely, there is good; Let it wash the darkness out of me
Where the tears fall, let them lie;
Leave their care to gravity. I’ll find that, by and by, They were not meant to stay with me
But let them fall when I’m alone,
When there’s none to drown in worry. Let my tears feed grass and stone; Let my sorrow flow away from me.
I don’t want to go to sleep,
I don’t care how long I take;
You tell me I should go to sleep —
But I don’t want to wake.
Don’t ask me now to go to sleep:
I know the morning, when it comes,
Will be oblivion so sweet,
That to it I gladly will succumb.
So I don’t want to go to sleep;
Because I won’t want to wake.
There’s no escape yet from the fog of sleep
That when the morning comes, I’ll take.
Can I go along another twenty years,
Having twenty already nigh my own?
Shall I watch dreams surface only to disappear,
And play lord over a Sisyphean throne?
Yes: I will hold up my sky,
Pretending that it’s always blue;
I’ll see my eagle return by and by —
And somehow, ever muddle through.
And in a hundred years perhaps,
Maybe in looking back I’ll find
That there was hope to be found at last,
So long as I wasn’t caged in mind.
All I feel is anger;
What is wrong with me?
These days should be joyous;
But the bars are all I see.
Reminders of just where I am
And what it always means:
For it means that I’m a monster,
Caged among the so-called queens;
At least in their eyes,
I’m the traitor —
‘Tis me offending!
Because I do not wish to cater,
Because I want to be free.
Why can’t I just have that?
Why must I jump through hoops
And pretend to laugh and smile
While all you do is berate your troops?
Well, I’m sorry, my liege,
But I can’t live like this;
I’m falling as I bow down
To give your ring a kiss.
Is this really what you want of us,
This token loyalty?
If not, then I beg of you:
If you love us, let us free.
It will always pass you by:
The gypsy in your life,
The vagrant all alone
That never finds his home.
It will make you beg and plead,
And say the things you will not mean:
Like that you wish that you were dead,
Or that you’ll do anything instead.
It will come when least expected,
And stay longer than you let it;
But though you can’t imagine a reprieve…
Pain will always leave.
What’s this, that makes me laugh to trembles?
I feel it’s something I rarely know.
So often I exaggerate smiles;
Such a joy to just let go.
Something keeps me from connection;
A blame that only I can take.
I fear all I do is misdirection;
That everything I am is fake.
I’ve restrained myself without realizing,
Feeling some things just can’t be said;
Which seems to be most everything
That rolls around inside my head.
But how much worse to be stifled;
To feel always you’re alone.
How much worse to grow idled,
Detached from any life or home.
But to feel that you’re alive —
Even if you might just crash and burn?
I think I just might chance a dive,
If that’s something I can learn.