The wind, for once, is gentle fingers
Playing with hair, tugging at dresses
The sun, for once, is a golden spotlight
Instead of the familiar harsh white fluorescents
The grass is my doormat,
The sky is my ceiling
The trees are my columns
With no paint to be peeling
This world is my stage, and now that I'm here
It's hard to recall why I had so much fear
This is where I was born to stand
And no, I don't stand here hand in hand
With happily-ever-after prince charming, you see;
This stage was custom-built for me
If you think that I am going to share
The throne I was clearly made for
Your harsh awakening is just around the corner
They say the selfish do live longer
I'm going to rock this
I'm going to kill it
I'll give you my glass
Just so you can fill it
This is my world
It's time to put my name on it
It's always been my playground
These renovations will make it
My throne.
YOU ARE READING
Misty (a collection of my poetry) {{COMPLETE}}
PoetryA road trip of poetry, I guess. Care to come along? Highest rank: 267 in poetry Read my third poetry book, "hush." I have high hopes for it. Read my first poetry book, "where the bluebirds aren't." (Or don't, it's old and rather embarrassing). ⚠️...
