cicadas to city dreams
so easily are we lost
in the bustle hustle
growing up suburban
sidewalks were canvases
meant only for my chalk
meant only for creatures I’d create
in the city, it’s vibrant
with people of diverse
colour and aspirations
of becoming even bigger than
what our parents could’ve ever wished for us
staying up late nights, I’m
drowning in all the things I swore I’d do
I’m reminded of the nights I’d spend sleeping,
dreaming of worlds I’d build and lives I’d change
it’s easy to think you’re not good enough
when there’s all this mess in front of you
but find quiet pockets in time
tranquility in a book, in a warm coffee
because regardless of wherever you are
(or wherever you wish you’d be)
there’s nothing wrong with where you are
The Reluctant Poet 