I know a place, in silent ruminations, where trees are part of our constellations.
I can see three moons through this lens, I wish to be a cosmonaut with a pen.
I don't want to be creative, my mind is not a tap to be dictated.
I ask for comfort from the clouds
these lines are cages they help not to aid me
'I'll find some place quieter where I can be anything but a writer'
'my whole heart pumping thoughts into ink'