I am the girl….
I am the girl falling asleep headfirst on top of the covers to the sound of the rain against the windowpane. I am dreaming in tarnished poetry and rotting hopes.
And I am the girl wandering the aisles of the book store. I am curling in corners with Shakespeare touching the pages like a lover, smelling the ink because I’m the girl who thinks books smell like faith. I’m tucking myself between each syllable, climbing down the commas and resting on the vowels. I am sticking my post-it-note-wishes over the adjectives, waiting for the words to bleed through the page and stain the backside of my skin.
And I am the girl holding her elbows when watching the ocean. I am pulling the stitches closed and wincing against the saltwater on my scars. I am not afraid to look in my opal-reflection, but I’m not ready to face it just yet. Because I am the girl building sand castles during high tide, the one running into the waves fully dressed. I am breathing in coral and starfish so that when I come apart, at least my insides will be beautiful.
And, oh, I am the girl throwing kerosene on the stars. I am the one setting the moon on fire. I am tearing apart the dictionary because none of the definitions work, ripping up words to create a collage of meanings that aren’t worth a thing. I am swallowing bullets and spitting out machine-gun-rounds, tearing off my skin because I swear it’s too tight. I am running with nothing but moonbeams, laughing with nothing but sarcasm, hating with nothing but empathy, and falling in love with nothing but vulnerability.
I am the girl falling asleep headfirst on top of the covers to the sound of the rain against the windowpane. I am dreaming in tarnished poetry and rotting hopes.
And I am the girl wandering the aisles of the book store. I am curling in corners with Shakespeare touching the pages like a lover, smelling the ink because I’m the girl who thinks books smell like faith. I’m tucking myself between each syllable, climbing down the commas and resting on the vowels. I am sticking my post-it-note-wishes over the adjectives, waiting for the words to bleed through the page and stain the backside of my skin.
And I am the girl holding her elbows when watching the ocean. I am pulling the stitches closed and wincing against the saltwater on my scars. I am not afraid to look in my opal-reflection, but I’m not ready to face it just yet. Because I am the girl building sand castles during high tide, the one running into the waves fully dressed. I am breathing in coral and starfish so that when I come apart, at least my insides will be beautiful.
And, oh, I am the girl throwing kerosene on the stars. I am the one setting the moon on fire. I am tearing apart the dictionary because none of the definitions work, ripping up words to create a collage of meanings that aren’t worth a thing. I am swallowing bullets and spitting out machine-gun-rounds, tearing off my skin because I swear it’s too tight. I am running with nothing but moonbeams, laughing with nothing but sarcasm, hating with nothing but empathy, and falling in love with nothing but vulnerability.
