we disguise boredom as sadness
(oh, the ways we tell ourselves that we're sad!)
but it's just hard to remember
that we're wildly creative and mad
that we can pick up the damn legos
and build whimsical towers
that we can pick up our brushes
and paint pictures for hours
that it's actually easy to
make messy things
out of sticks, like sparks
that start fires in our hearts
we're so tired of being small flames--
too scared to show up and play
but we're grown ups now
we can fan the fire if we so please
no one's stopping us
any longer
from shimmering gold and free
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