Isolation

Written by a BRITE young adult spokesperson.

Aren’t you tired of the isolation?

The running, hiding

Aren’t you tired of the constant battle between your present and your happiness?

What happens when you run out of fuel and you’re no longer useful in this sick game of reminiscence?

You need to allow yourself to glow.

To grow.

The past is a place of reference

So why do you still reside between the lines

Why do you still live within the chapters of the last book?

Are you the author?

Or are you the actor?

Because I’m intrigued by the scene in which the playwright grows

The scenes in which the actor prevails and leaves all their troubles behind.

I’m longing for the lines in which the rose grows from out of the pages

From out of the concrete

Embraces all her petals that make her look weak.

That follows her stages but doesn’t wither in the winter.

Because she’s stronger than the stone she broke through.

I beg you.

With dirty knees

And pleading eyes

To relinquish the hold on the place you reside

To climb up the sewage that’s polluted your mind.

And be the rose of stone you so beautifully define.