I feel as if the asphalt is starting to split,
like the moon decided to never show its face again,
like my light has been stolen and my earth shattered.

I am a flower in a concrete jungle,
just barely budding its flowers,
yet deprived of water.

I am here to inspire,
I am here to blossom,
yet every step I take seems to be back to the root of the problem.
My existence is not enough.

Why do I feel like my life is just a blemish,
a smear on someone else’s windshield?
Like I’ve been mocked in every love poem ever created.
I dreamt that we got married.
That you were my everything.
wallowing in the darkness,
I search for the moon’s presence.
Who knew a Midsummer Night's Dream was actually a nightmare?
© TheUpsetMillennial