Static

the noise is too loud for my head

and i’ve kept my glass in my hand

though i’ve wanted to smash it on several separate occasions.

my mother goes on and on about how to love people,

but she doesn’t realize her words are rote,

repetitive, reiterated.

i am a girl made of steel and of words and of fire

yet i am a glass pane meant to shatter against the rough terrain.

has everything i have ever known been a lie?

or is this reality the one i have been searching for?

his voice is deep like a bass note. i’ve always liked the radio

but it is as if i am between stations,

some tuning that has not yet been occupied by music.

i have been music before, and i will be music again,

yet i fail to see the silver lining through the static.