see me after class

i adored the sky once,

smiling into the damp grass

while the moon gasped for air beside the burning sun.

the wind became a prophet of false storms,

the crickets… false saints,

chanting their hymns on broken leaves.

but the grass soaked through me,

cold, unworthy.

the eclipse was no miracle,

just another pessimistic call,

while the wind carved paranoia into my skin

and the crickets wailed for crowns they would never wear.

perhaps the failure is mine.

perhaps i was never chosen.

this place will not have me.