Impulse

Breathless. My fingers intertwined with a desire, not a reality. Enclosed in a blanket of thoughts and ideas, Eager to blossom its petals to showcase its individual colors, But quickly wilts away, overshadowed by fears. Children no longer play on the swings; I no longer smile at the explosion of words on my construction paper. Construction-I am constructed into the myriad-a plethora of status and expectation, Forced to join a club I never signed up for. My fingers intertwined with a desire, not a reality And it slips away, drifting further away from me. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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