So many thoughts rolling around in your head,

Your mind is the universe, constantly expanding.

The bright lights of the world echo the sounds of hysteria pounding in your head.

The lens you see the world from is the size of a dime, yet you are still afraid of what you see:

Paranoia, sacrificing freedom for safety.

A vision written on the back of a napkin, thrown away to get ready for dinner,

Your future is riding on a piece of paper,

And you’ve got another headache today.

Surrounded by warnings and opinions,

The only thing you worship is the radio, but you will just sing in the shower.

There’s no date on the calendar for when you’re all grown up.

You feel too old to be a child yet too young to be old.

Your paper soul is in limbo, like a bud waiting to blossom.

They say not to dwell on the past, but you are stuck in your future,

Putting pressure on a person that has yet to exist.

You are defined by entirely a number,

And you work tirelessly trying to swim against the rigid flow of genetics,

Changing a body you’ve barely explored,

Anxious to find the box you think you belong in.