to be born on a warm summers day,
for the muslin-cloth curtains to be swaying to the sound of your cries.
i've always dreamed of being sang awake by the sun,
that the fiery star would call my name,
and i would feel at home.
but, no.
instead i was born on a bleak autumns night
an even 60 degrees fahrenheit.
the moon nor the sun scream for me,
the stars, too beautiful to even be aware of my existence.
but the dew that graced the grass,
three floors below from where i was born,
they cried with me,
and when they rose back up into the clouds,
i lost my breath,
and, well, water lives.
never before, has those little dewdrops failed me,
maybe they were a teardrop on my cheek
or the storm that frightened me when i was 6.
maybe the little dewdrop lives inside me now,
maybe it is home,
it could be yelling at me,
to find solace in myself.
that now, me and my little dewdrop friend,
will be the only ones to stick around.
me and my dewdrop friend have been storms,
we've been tears, rivers, clouds, showers.
where the sun has burned me
and the moon has left me alone with my nightmares,
i have never been let down,
by the drop of water,
that was there when i was born,
and now it is home.
YOU ARE READING
ramblings of a blurry-eyed girl
Randomi write, you read. i pretend that i will finally equate to something other than an afterthought. but really, thanks for reading my brain vomit :) please be nice lol
