Like the cardigan in the trunk,
They claw for my warmth
When frost bites their skin.
But when the scent of spring,
And the scent of a rose
Grazes their cold nose,
They cast aside my thread,
The cardigan under the bed,
Only remembered when,
Everyone is cold again.

A little blue balloon
Floated blissfully across the sky
Above mango trees, along with birds
In the humid air of July.

Floating high above, it barely saw
The little specks of ants below, crawling about.
Insignificant and a hindrance
Like ink on waste paper, blotted out

Feeling important, it spent its days
Until a realization brought it to a lower rung.
It floated higher, not because it was an ace,
But as its insides were lighter than the air around

One day, a red balloon came along.
Like the moon in a night sky
Brought all eyes to it
And admiration in all minds

The blue balloon realised it was invisible
To everyone against the blue.
Unimportant and worthless
A balloon no one cared about or knew.

I want to do as I please
To soar like a bird, wild and free.
I want to rid me my mask
To show my face at long last.
Yet I fear spreading my wings
To let the breeze kiss my skin.
I feel doubt crawl over me
Creeping like vines of poison ivy.
What if my wings don't spread?
What if they're just arms instead?
What if my mask hides not a face?
What if it's all just empty space?
What if I don't find malleable clay?
What if it's stone, all in decay?

I bought myself a tiara,
Along with a pair of shoes.
I twirl in front of my mirror,
My soles clear of dirt and dew.
But my eyes see a beautiful princess,
Ready to be swept off her feet,
To live a life of adventure,
To sing and do as she please,
To not be a normal woman,
But a Disney princess and beloved queen.
I put the tiara down, and step back,
Into mundane days of assignments,
Into grueling nights of deadlines,
Forgetting the hours spent,
Flipping through books of stories,
Flipping through Instagram stories,
Memorizing every line on every page,
Every line on every face.
Scrolling, thinking, worrying,
Laying on my bed, stowed away
In the deepest part, the highest tower,
Living under the watchful eyes of my mother,
My life forever gaslit by my father.
As they warn me of the many dangers,
My fire-breathing aunts and uncles,
I can only ever wonder,
When will my life begin?