Vast

I’ve never liked
the way that I’ll only stain a fraction of
everything
with my inky eyes.
Or that it’s all too vast
and that my world
is a tucked-up nest.

There is too much world
and not enough of me.
There are too many blushing sunsets
and buttery sunrises
and not enough time for me
to sketch them out across my
arms.

I want to melt into the
glorious
cracks
of everything; assumptions begone!
I want to form an opinion on everything
in this city, this continent, this cosmos.

But
There is too much world,
And not enough of me.
Maybe I’ll grow someday.
For now?
Goodnight.

—By Cia M.