She's always been a princess in my mind.
I close my eyes, and I see the syrup that drips from her crown to her shoulders--she has fine hair, soft hair, hair that I want to touch because it's my hair.
I look into her eyes and I see the hazel swarming like a hive of bees ready to burst out and sting me with her stare.
I miss the coo of her voice, the lullabies she would sing to me before she went to sleep. She only asked me to sing for her once, she always insisted I sing for her.
I think of her, and I mourn her. She's dead to me, isn't she? I chose for her to be, I wanted her to be happy. And she is happy.
I'm jealous it's not me who's making her happy.
YOU ARE READING
FLIP-SIDE
Poetry❝ my heart runs wild with words that shouldn't escape my lips ❞ [[my process of healing//started feb. 13th, 2016]]
