By Avery C., TIWP Student

Inside,
possibility grows wild
a forest of unfinished sentences,
constellations still deciding
what shape they want to be.

But the world prefers straight roads,
clear signs,
names hammered into doors.

So walk the border between wilderness and pavement
with a notebook full of dissolved stars.

Some mornings
thoughts arrive like migrating birds
fast, bright, and impossible to hold.

Other days
they are fossils under quiet ground,
waiting for the right question
to brush the dust away.

Every day
the same small, impossible question
waits beside the bed:

how do I be myself today?

When the world builds narrow hallways
and calls them directions.

When it hands a map
with most of the oceans erased.

When it asks the sky
to fit inside a window.

So keep translating,
because the universe inside
does not understand cages,

and every day
it presses a little harder
against the edges.