Boundless Dreams

I was inspired to write this poem by one of my favorite artists, @av.scibs on Instagram. I'd been following their work for a while, and I love all of the potential in "Boundless Dreams." I really connect with the character depicted in the artwork (Viktor from the Netflix series Arcane) because of the immense pressure he puts himself under and his ability to still show the world around him kindness, and I love the way that avscribs depicts him. There's so much tension in the fact that Viktor's back is facing the viewer, the viewer can't see what he's reading, and the fact that we don't know what's going on inside his head... This poem represents the theme of this year's publication because I very much believe that being labeled a "gifted" kid or a star student is a laughable disaster in itself. Everyone simply wants to see your success (or, if they're toxic, your failure) and few take the time to step into your life and see the process; messy, horrible, and wonderful as it is. 

Kate Knox

Dusk filters through the room, illuminating all but the mind.

Papers: notes, diagrams, musings,

Cover the walls and floors like dust.

A lone figure stands poring over his notes,

Sweeping up his cluttered thoughts-

Pouring himself into his work, lest the dust settles.

What keeps him here?

The dusk beckons from the window, yet he spares it no glance.

Brilliant minds don't have time for life.

Did his parents look at him with confusion too?

Wondering how on earth a mind like that came from them,

Did he find comfort and friendship easier to come by in the pages of a book?

He feels it, too.

The scorching of the dusk.

The sun is setting- what should he care?

The night is young, as is he,

Yet he feels time's claws gouging deeper with every breath.

His mind- his thoughts- are a gift, right?

How could he leave his house of thought

When every second rots it away?

His future's right in front of him,

Yet stays maddeningly out of his reach.

"Burdened by Brilliance"

That's what they say as he passes.

Awarding a compliment that was never a compliment.

Only seeing the house of thoughts, never the man inside.

Calling him Brilliant only validates their averted gaze.

I enjoy looking at the sun. The moon. The stars.

Brilliance has always caught my eye.

I, too, know the burden of dreams.

I have felt the grasp of the dusk.

I have built my own house of thoughts, locked myself away in a tower of paper.

When two celestial bodies meet, gravity pulls them together, so they say.

However, I wonder if they mistook each other for a reflection.

I pour myself onto this page, ask the same question as the Sun in his room:

Won't you come in?