improv

i closed my eyes, almost unintentionally

my fingers, not poised over the keyboard- they had begun the swift lateral movement moments and moments ago

but now they're kind of just like little tiny legs dancing across the whites and blacks, freely, really, i wasn't moving them!

my head, detached from the worries, the due dates, the strange eyes, the complies; from time.

ah, that felt good

"it's a northwestern crow"

i hear them singing their dreams

their lives

their creations

their role models

or even their narcissism

whereas i listen to the chirping sound of birds

who do i blame? hmm.. this one's a head scratcher

i'd have to say it's a close call between hope and self doubt

sparrows

has the lifeless destroyed your soul,

your passion, and your cool?

has practicality vapouried your dreams,

your strength to escape from that whirlpool?

you had your chance, to prove your worth

but your persistence,

(or your cowardness, if you will)

decided to stick to conformity.

"what now?" you ask,

looks like they're all prancing about from afar,

where everyone else is,

laughing at your so-called success.

finally, now, you want to strip off the post-its.

you liquify your stance,

hoping that they'll all sink back to you.

is it working? is it working?

even if it is, they'll all just fly away the moment you open your eyes,

or maybe you're the one who's bailing out,

always coming off as a fluff.