by Parth Pandya
She wishes life was arranged like
The chiaroscuro of a cobbled street
The darkness allowed to coexist
With the light within her that
Waxed and waned like the
Trenchant moon outside her window
She wishes she was a tree
Whose roots she could hide
While they spread unbeknownst
To the world that pried and stared
And willed her to melt down
Like a cube of ice under the hot sun
She wishes that she could dream
Without the practical considerations
That shackled the flight that dreams
Should be allowed to take
Not weighed down by the drag of reason
Not burnt like the wings of Icarus
She wishes that she could choose
The life that she wished for
That she would point to a closed fist
And would always find a coin within it
That every choice was a deliberate move
Always made to move her forward
She wishes that true choice was not a myth
That she could choose the wishes
That would inevitably turn to reality
That her outcomes were not
The dispassionate verdicts of probability
And her choices were not curses in hiding
