when you read this

will i go farther
reaching for the stars
or settling for what’s already
ours?

my mind says i am
more than this; i am
so much more than this,
but still i sit
and, more, i wait
to be told i am;
to be told i am would
only give credence to
a thought so buried i
can barely hear its cries
for freedom from these
bonds of socially-created norms,
like money and mortgages.

i am more than this.
i am more than what i pretend to be;
i am not an angry ape,
pounding my fists in the dirt
to become an annoyance just as
life has become mine;
no, i am
more than this; i am
searching for what i will be
when you read this.