Journal: Prototype Prose

Every day I make political speeches muffled by shower curtains. I pound invisible podiums as I shout for imaginary people to stand up for their beliefs and live their dreams. The water is moved by the tears in my eyes while my soul spills out from my trembling mouth. "We can make a difference!" I cry to the tiles. I want them to understand that i'm following my dream when I beg them to stand up and spread their wings flap with the force of all they've ever yearned for and carry humanity into the stars. I want them to know this is what I must do to fill the void inside myself, when I talk about sovereignty, beg for their strength, the future is theirs, and it now burns inside them. The hot water runs out and I quickly dry off... what happens to a dream deferred?