I wake up to the sun rays filtering through my bamboo screens.
drenched in the warm honey glow of an almost summer morning.
I crawl, scramble in a generally awkward fashion,
from beneath my bubblegum neon pink soccer blanket
with knotted frayed twists on each end.
I stretch and roll out my sky blue yoga mat,
the foam soft beneath my feet,
I try to calm the tensions inside my center,
from the homework and the AP classes that I joined out of obligation,
a moral duty to my education,
because that is what one does.
Not that art school seems to care, but remember I musn't be resentful.
But really I have no care for 1-proportion-z-tests or dissolved oxygen,
of Gross Domestic Product or whatever a caucus is.
What I really desire is to find charcoal in the cracks of my too dry skin,
pencil shavings in everything that I own,
and pen stains on the buds of my fingers.
I want to see my imagination come to life drawing by drawing,
crawling across stickynotes in a jerky fashion
because I am always learning,
I desire animation
to create worlds of copper gears and steamy smokestacks in a molten lamplit glow
or worlds of crags and fjords with wizards and magic.
My imagination is my limit,
not my statistics calculations.
I love green tea and oxford shoes,
mermaids and my wacom tablet,
foods that no one can pronounce or even care to eat:
kombucha, matcha, siracha.
I love the tilted head of a person who sees my chia water.
I imagine they think they are little bugs,
swimming for dear life in coconut scented water.
And let them wonder,
let them cringe at my foods,
my veganistic beliefs.
I am me,
I need no filter,
no frosted glass pane to cover my person.
Let the world be what it is,
and let me be me.