Paper Hotel: Poetry

Paper Hotel

I transcribe my introspective,
regurgitating these words
that would not dare to leave
this room.

I'm not a poet, I'll confess,
nor claim to be one.
Nothing but a twenty-year-old girl,
standing small,
living among billions,
you see.

So much like the ocean,
an influential pull penetrates throughout
my internal landscape,
shape-shifting the change of
nature within me.
One day sedative as tides retreat,
the next, tempestuous and ferocious,
I can be.

You mention a paradoxical complexion,
where elements lie upon my
disposition.
However, my train of thoughts
may not be static.

Often I contemplate, wishing that the
idea of romanticism had never
wanted me,
that my dreams remained pure, untouched by
infatuation.

The voices of wisdom I hear,
though often mindlessly,
take no notice for
its counsel.

But somehow, continuing to navigate
my journey's fate.

As the world's atmosphere rotates ever so
wildly,
below my feet, I stand,
a breath of the same air
we breathe in,
encompassed by
millions of individuals,
that binds us in unity.

The opulent
moments in the everyday essence,
treasuring the simplicity,
the gift worth of living.

From here and ever after,
with all that I've learned and gathered,
I continue to compose my life's own chapter,
when I get there.

I transcribe my introspective,
regurgitating these words that'll lie upon

My sanctuary,

My paper hotel.