Working is like becoming a moth
You work so hard to become
One of those colorful butterflies
But now you can hardly look
Into the mirror of your gray soul
People turn away from you
They don’t let you in
Their humming worlds
Full of different colors
Even rainbows turn away from you
Stay away from the Eastside,
you warn me. Keep away from those
who believe you should dream less.
Don’t think you’re worth the trees
when you could be among the stars.
You could get out of it, I say. Run. Fly.
You’ve been stuck here for so long.
Why not get away from your own disaster?
I know you didn’t mean for all of this.
You could leave before it’s too late.
You shake your head and sigh
And I know you’ll never leave
Even with all the lies
With all the damage control
You’ve claimed this gray work as your home