summer:
/sʌmə/
noun ;
It's blackberries and cherries fished between your fingers, the heel and skin of your feet smudged with dirt and bits of fragile and breakable pine needles sticking to the most out-most layer of your skin. It's messy fingers laced with watermelon juice and the sound of spitting seeds over the rocks, and for a moment you don't care about white clouds or thunderstorms or gravel or sand. it's the sound of sneakers thudding against the ground. There's a screech and your kneesthey're bloody. Gravel sticks to them. But the sting and the tang of the summer air just sweeps hot and heavy against the hair of your neck and instead you smile and pulls yourself to your feet.summer isn't wildflowers and happiness, it's cherries and a mess and sticky hair and sand stuck between your feet and rolling clouds tinged with blue and red and the sky setting, colors stitched tight.
YOU ARE READING
everything from the stars to the earth
Poetrylittle bits of poetry and writing pieces from my personal tumblr @crowkiiing. warning: may have to do with themes of suicide, self-harm, self-esteem and body issues, lgbt+ thoughts, and other things. temp. cover
