The unknown—with no dark blue goo
or bright yellow rain—creeps into a grey pot,
resides close to my heart, ready to ooze out of me.
It wants people to feel what I feel.

My fingers are at the start line, 
eager to beat the rest of the contestants in a race to see who
can write the most poetry the fastest. A transparently white
and thick substance oozes out of them—they’re dancers
unwinding at the dance studio at 9 pm. 

Poetry has always tugged at my heart, 
but when my sparkling purple galaxy 
stops flowing from my fingertips, it’s off on an adventure,
wanting to experience the world on its own.  Right now, 

it’s wandering off on a quest, 
leaving its sparkling purple galaxy 
in the corner of my brain. I lunge towards it, 
but it rapidly flies away 
like a bird when humans approach it. It 
leaves me with this shining new idea 
that slowly itches away at part of my brain. 
It murmurs, trying to replicate the art of poetry 
like a computer trying to replicate the sounds
of a motorcycle speeding down the highway in the HOV lane. I
reach for it, wanting to grab it,
but it quickly inches away— 
its venomous laugh matching its grin
as it exclaims, “Catch me if you can!”