We'll All Float On Okay

Every morning I wake up.
Not another day… I can’t do this…

I step back and look at
the writing I slave over.
This is no good. No one will ever read my work.
This is all the talent I have.

I stare at my wigs in need of styling
and sewing machine;
the yards of cloth and pins and thread.
Nobody will like my costumes,
I might as well give up my dreams now.

I glare at my schedule and at my
mostly empty wallet.
How am I going to pay for this stuff?
I’m in debt, too.

I look at my school tasks
and upcoming orchestra concerts.
All the clubs and all the homework.
I can’t manage to do this, it’s pointless.
I wish it didn’t exist.

And then suddenly in my head
there is a short ginger boy
named Hanna.
He may only be from a comic,
and he may not be real.
It might be silly for me
to think of him as my muse.
But he tells me we’ll all
float on okay.

View this story's 1 comments.