I am peter pan,

17, wrapped up in black sheets, spending my day in,

Hiding, in my room.

“You can fly!” they say, that happiness is just like having wings, they say, that the second star to the right is right in reach, and if I could only reach out, if I could sing and think happy things, if I could only feel the pixie dust rub off on my fingers I could getup and I could FLY.

But I do feel it. I do.

A I try to let it go

I find a friend

I try to have no worries, I whistle while I work,

I feel the love

I wish upon stars and, I think, “when will my life begin?”

I think “zero to hero!”, I think “be a man”, but Im not going anywhere.

I could be a part of the world, I could be Wendy, I could be Alice, but I’m sleeping beauty,

I’m sleeping in, I’m biting the apple, I’m snow white and I’m stuck in bed I am waiting for revival

But I have had that kiss and my prince is here. I’m wide awake. I’m alive but lord knows I’m not kicking. I didnt sink but I’m barely able to tread,

I am young.

I am Prince Ali

I am Simba

I am Tarzan

I am the Beast, yet I cannot defeat my own demons

I bat the nets, I dodge the stampede, I show my teeth to Jafar, I am in my prime but all I feel is

Fear.

And in my bed, wishing I could shrink and disappear, I hear the clock laugh. I hear the wall’s breath, I hear flowers wilting under glass, but I am alone, and know it is only me.

I am 19

going on 18

going on 17

Going… nowhere,

because pixie dust does nothing when I do nothing, feel like nothing, create nothing, I am nothing

And nothing is holding me down. Lying in bed, I hear the clock laugh and walls shrinking and flowers wilting, but, again, it is only me.