Written by a BRITE young adult spokesperson.
Aren’t you tired of the isolation?
The running, hiding
Aren’t you tired of the constant battle between your present and your happiness?
What happens when you run out of fuel and you’re no longer useful in this sick game of reminiscence?
You need to allow yourself to glow.
The past is a place of reference
So why do you still reside between the lines
Why do you still live within the chapters of the last book?
Are you the author?
Or are you the actor?
Because I’m intrigued by the scene in which the playwright grows
The scenes in which the actor prevails and leaves all their troubles behind.
I’m longing for the lines in which the rose grows from out of the pages
From out of the concrete
Embraces all her petals that make her look weak.
That follows her stages but doesn’t wither in the winter.
Because she’s stronger than the stone she broke through.
I beg you.
With dirty knees
And pleading eyes
To relinquish the hold on the place you reside
To climb up the sewage that’s polluted your mind.
And be the rose of stone you so beautifully define.