my name is hannah pirozzoli and i am light 

well sort of

within these folds of earthly skin cells 

resides the supernatural under every sheath 

for i hold a passion so precious and so bold

that no other can repeat

this evanescent orb that i call me

 resides unseen

for what ever i hold

i grasp tightly

and the sand that trickles out

becomes dust at my feet

and every step up the ladder

becomes heavy from my weight

once upon a time

we were kids in the playground

and that same sand we built castles with

we were told our light would shine forever, as long as we preserved ourselves and our prosperity

but what is left after ounce is squeezed from us?

"i am expected to create something out of nothing"

we are told to foster the American Dream,

and the act of going to college will be our saving grace

But what happens to the sand when all that's left is a single grain?

when we find ourselves alone in a room full of darkness.

who then can pick us up from the pavement and place band aids on our wounds?

This bureaucracy that we put upon ourselves is fruitless,

because our human hands were never meant to flower.