Warm. Hot. Torrid, even.
Though, summer days have been like this. Frequently, peering at me from a corner—waiting patiently to pounce me with a strike of heat. Sweat drips steadily down my back, my forehead feels like a winter fever.
I don't care, intead, I keep walking underneath the blaze of summer's sun.
Why?
I precisely don't know nor understand the answer myself. I know everything but the things that matter. I do what I was born to do. I walk, and walk, until my inner thighs itch against each other and the soles of my feet feel like the ones of those who walk Mount Everest.
Overreacting? Maybe. I don't care.
I was born to walk away, run away, not face the shadows that lurk behind me with courage.
My thoughts are in the basement. My feelings are changing. I want to be happy. Truthfully, I can be.
But for now I'm at the bottom of the hole, I've never been this deep before. I'm drowning in a pool with no water.
My feels won't prosper. "Feelings," an odd word, right?
I feel like the whole world wants me to pray for them, but who's praying for me?
YOU ARE READING
Moral Ambiguity
PoetryPerpectives of life from my eyes and my stories. Delves into the themes of what it means to be human, intense emotions, and life in itself. Most importantly, written about the world from a thirteen year old girls eyes. Includes: Short stories, Poems...
