The night is young, and so am I

My youth blisters coarsely, more than the cold of the midnight's eye

I watched the moon clock in for its shift and couldn't help but ponder

if it's the thought of youth as temporary that kills all wonder

They say dreaming is free, but that's only the half of what I see of it

I say it's only free if your inner child isn't at the mercy of it

Only free if the sacrifices you made don't have you in the corner of your win being second-guessing of it

I look at my palms and they tell a new story from the last told

These calluses are from the weight my ambitions hold.

Yours truly

This perspective is from a bird's eye view but the bird's unruly

A bird whose nest was built, with sticks thrown, on a branch too high to stoop from

A bird whose wings can't be cut off like a chicken shop coupon.

Yours truly.