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I woke up one day
on this spaceship called earth,
and I held on tight for what it’s worth,
you see,
there is this thing called gravity
that holds me
in place
on this molten rock
flying through space,
so I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon,
although I can gaze at the stars,
rainbows, and a moon,
snow in the winter,
and fireflies in June.
I can fall in love,
I can dream,
change my mind,
or hold my ground,
listen to the sound
of silence,
the silence in the sound
of not being heard,
the words we sometimes think
but do not say
when something isn’t okay,
like today,
with endless rules,
tools, and fools
selling their answers
from the back of their van,
telling us who can’t
and what can,
as if the mysteries of the universe
can be uncovered for a fee,
and that what it means to be me
is probably available for discovery
in ChatGPT.
Who do they think they are?
And what am I,
and why am I afraid
to cry in public
when I love the expression so much
and how it feels
to simply feel.
That’s real
to me,
and I won’t discover that
in ChatGPT,
or on TV.
That’s life,
and I’m a body
with hopes and dreams
of a boy not yet gone,
holding on
to the night before the dawn,
afraid of space,
the human race,
and anything that moves,
and I’m on a spaceship called earth.
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