Poetry - Lovelorn Diaries Vol.1

Escapists Can Be-Daydreamers

Escapists Can Be—Daydreamers

You know I can't ever joke on I love you'd, As remember vaguely on April 1st 2022—
Someone told me they liked me. The first time I'd thought of life cuing me more than a dime— a few nickels and some fallen pine, made me want to bite the hook of love- though I hesitated and played the fool, this feeling tugged inside, I felt as if I couldn't indulge in the hope of a taste of love.

It was autumn spring in my uniform, the school filled with rows of leaves— trees cleared of its hiding form. Yet was picked up— swept off its very feet— as the wind was not able to keep it scattered in misinform as the eyes meet, One knew that of prey for something to tore up and eat, for the predatory.

I'm keeping the streak alive yet I live on by being a poised prodigy of society, If I can't be an old soul who lives heavily in the shades of polaroid's and photography— who writes poetry to cope with modern society, who takes a breath of warm autumn air on its firsts, even if the parks were now filled with smoke and wilting flowers.

And I don't believe in love if it doesn't produce an heir for the royal stories, or change up someone's fate in the future and its glories. Our desire to live and receive are merely just novels driven by escapists— who run to daydreaming in the neverlands—

The ever - empathetic-aspirants— in a world full of fault-less fiends and tyrants.

I picture myself hitting 18 on a make believe, that there was something worth finding in the sproutless-leadings, though I never think to dig deep to see it was deprived of beliefs, As There comes a point of a prayer to God—

wishing the world could be vexed in an endless love.

I hate to say the words I wanna die and erase my existence, yet from a movie scene perspective, goldenly— attractive, as my younger self would laugh uncontrollably as he illicit "how bad can teenage petulance get", He expresses yet my mother whispers you haven't gotten to that stage yet—

how can you prove fate can be defied merely by good of insisting  in the tiring orbit, and happiness can be caught by a butterfly net?

05-01-24

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Gillian Edwards