As a child, my mother never understood
Why I hated wearing shoes;
Why I said my feet belonged to the mud,
And my hands belonged to the creeks.
When I was twelve my brother and I
Found a hawk with a broken wing,
And I cried for weeks thinking about the tragedy
Of having bones so broken
You can’t get off the ground anymore.
And isn’t that the risk of being wild?
That one day, something inside you could break;
That maybe one day someone
Could clip your wings, and fill your bones
With sand and logic.
There used to be nights when
I’d hang out the passenger seat of cars
Going 60 miles per hour down the freeway.
And I’m more afraid of beds & hearts
Than I am of empty parking lots
And dark alleys.
My feet belong to the mud,
And my hands belong to the creeks.
The rest of me belongs to the sky;
To the ocean; to your mouth;
To your hands and to the sun.
I think I’m nervous to turn the rest of myself
Over to your heart because
I’ve learned a lot about freedom
And how it tastes;
I’ve learned that you can die a thousand deaths,
And keep on living;
I’ve learned that you can have wings
And stay on the ground.
Why are the guys I know so up and down or hot and cold with how they feel about me all the time (like how interested they are in me) Guys say females are over emotional and moody and can’t make up their minds. LOL at that noise. Fuck that.
lol @ life
the very end
of the left side
of the curl
of your smile
of a rebellious strand
of your wild hair
the ant on the stem
of the orange flower
you have tucked
behind your ear
a stray crumb,
on your blanket,
that had fallen
as you ate your lunch
even the littlest part of your day,
would make mine whole