I try to jump higher
But I'm stuck to the floor
Oh, how I want to touch the clouds
I would like to think I'm destined for great things
But I stand at sea level
My peers turn into superiors
I look at the models in magazines
None of which look like mirrors
Oh, how I wish they did
Instead I sit alone
And pull upward on the strings attached to the corners of my mouth
And play my supporting role.
YOU ARE READING
Her Blue Dress: A Collection (Watty's 2019 Winner)
PoetryA collection of poems, cover by: @itsmarrosee || I am the fray at the end of the yarn, cut from the new blanket, before it becomes a gift.