This was supposed to be a blog post but apparently I wrote a poem.

I feel so small.

Like, the weight, of everything is crushing me back into the earth from which I have sprouted.

I stand up, and immediately want to sink into the floor; curl into a ball.

I'm trapped.

Yet through my cell's bars I can see the light, I really can.

But I've grown up in these walls. I've built these walls, with help, of course.

I've heard rumours upon rumours about the light. How dangerous it is, how it doesn't even exist.

It's something that we've created in our own minds and that's the only place where it exists.

But I can see,

Look, just there,

I can see people, in the light.

They're there, I see them, I really do.

How did they get there?

Did they start with their left foot, or right? Or maybe they started with a hop, or began, and then waited precisely for six minutes before actually going...?

...Six and a half?

If I stay here I'm safe, except for the crumbling ceiling...
Entirely my fault, of course.

But if I leave...

What will happen?
Where will I go?
What will I do?

How much will I fall...

How quickly will I fail?

I need the ocean.
She calls to me each night; the moon sending me her love.

I need the trees, and the sun that filters through them.
I need it.

But if I get out;
If I go to the edge of the world, I think I would run.

I'd run
and run
and run
and run.

I'd run until I became the wind.

And I'd soar so high,
With the birds.
Dancing among the clouds in the day,
Sleeping in blankets of stardust at night.

People from below would call up from the cages that they've built,
A voice cracked with curiosity,
"How did you get there? Tell me, left or right?"

But my soul would be too gilded with the sun's gracious gold,
To hear the cries from below.

My mind,
too far gone to be brought back down to earth.

I would be living in the light.
How do I get there?

Left,
then maybe...

A right?

- Mint.