tiffany-bourlet
American
I feel like my name should fit me better than it does. It's a few sizes too small for my brain. I wake up and my skin feels green like I stepped out of a space craft. I swear sometimes I'm screaming, and I wonder if anyone else hears it, but my mouths not even open. There's always some kind of theme music in the background, or maybe it's all in my head, but when I open my mouth to sing, they swarm me like bees; and their stingers leave pictures in my skin. I'm breaking pencils just to steal their words because I know I use them better. Leaving kisses on the cheeks of raindrops, and high fiving the stars, I'm friends with nature. An organ in my chest beats for something similar. Books fall open in my lap, and I jump into the pages and make the stories real. I paint my world with dream like colors. Memories captured in still form hung on the wall. Everyday I wake it's the same, Slip on my chucks, and make friends with another day... in my own alien way.
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