She was a girl with sloppy handwriting.
A girl who would twirl her hair around her fingers
And her fractured memories and dreams always lingered in her mind
She was one of a kind
A girl who picked up a worm while everyone else squirmed, disturbed.
A girl whose carried her imagination like a balloon around her finger
It was so big, so vast, that she didn't fit in with the others.
Sometimes she tried to make herself smaller so
She could make way for her big brain
But no matter how far she shrunk,
She remained the junk of society. At least that's what she thought.
Her parents' sobriety was rare. Her own home was like an asylum
And some days she wanted to peel the floorboards from the kitchen and
Hide underneath. She taught herself to weave night skies from her synapses when
She felt like collapsing, and it worked, so now she keeps her mind
Dancing, imagining things like what the color blue tastes like and how summer smells.
Her thoughts are all she needs here in this dungeon world.
