unicorns and snow.

 The instructor said,

      Go home and write

      a page tonight.

      And let that page come out of you—

      Then, it will be true.

What am I?

Who am I?

I know the answer,

but don’t quite understand it.

Perhaps, it is more complicated than saying

a writer

a thinker

a dreamer.

Or—

a believer. 

I believe,

we only exist in our heads.

I’m a seeker, a witness

of love and, of unicorns and snow,

of sand and cake

of Everything worth the light.

I’m confused,

I don’t know,

but I’m trying to live with that.

I think to write and

to channel my contemplations

 into absurd poems like this.

I yawn not to snore,

I sneeze to not succumb.

I read to travel and travel to 

feel the breeze in my hair.

I...

well,

I don’t know. 

Note: To most this may seem like a fairly random poem to be writing, but it's not that way. This is inspired by Langston Hughes’s poem called Theme for English B.