What am I to you?

Never show your poetry to your parents. First, they automatically attempt to guess who it's about. Second, they make silly comments. I read my mom a poem that I wrote Monday night, and she said that I should get a scholarship to college for writing. I think she's loony.

I've felt tres, tres inspired lately. And not just in the literary sense. Simply inspired to live.

Last night I went for a super long run and by the time I returned home, it was twilight. I collapsed on my front lawn and just stared at the sky until the entire canvas was covered with stars. It was amazing. I'm very, very bad at finding constellations, but I managed to locate Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Yay for me! In any case, I think I stared so long at the night sky that the stars felt a little sorry for me, because I felt little drops of insight fall softly in my head. I wanted to make sure that I remembered the conclusion I had come to, so I wrote it down. It turned out, suprisingly, as a poem.

It looks so flat but feels so deep
and I can't help but wonder
how far it truly goes
I bet there's never been a girl
who's looked at it for what it is
We all gaze out, still thinking that we're gazing up
telling ourselves that the world's still flat,
afraid of letting it turn
But someday, someone's going to see
that each star beckons to us, begs to be understood
and that we are not so different after all
Till then, I'll remain upon this grassy hill
smelling spring
seeing eternity
thinking of you