we were all static hair

and black holes as eyes

and our smiles were synthetic;

baggy sweaters

our state of equilibrium;

rebellion and sensitivity the anthems

we bled by

and all we were was ripped-up blue jeans

unsure limbs, starry eyes that saw everything

broken trophies like our dreams

we felt like we were well on our way

like we were different from everyone else

like we were destined to become

something

from the lines in our palms

and the things that we wrote

that we wish we had the guts to say

we snuck knowing smiles at each other

and talked about our childhood,

how we mutually disliked the word "therefore,"

deeming it pretentious, when we were ironically

the epitomes of ostentation

wishing on shooting stars,

plucking petals absentmindedly,

staring up at the thunderstorm clouds,

we called ourselves dreamers

when we were really all the same