You were my favourite memory,
the area of my brain I kept revisiting.
I dreamed of fields that stretched on for miles,
where magnificent horses pranced around
and the restless winds rippled through the waters.
You were my favourite melody,
the only song on repeat.
You were the innocent plucking of guitars,
and the soft, sweet melody of your voice
was my saving grace.
You were my A-Z,
my introduction and my conclusion,
and your body was made out of the sweeter things in life.
You were my haven,
your strong arms beckoned me into your warm chest,
and I relaxed for the first time
in what seemed like
You were my everything.
tap, tap, tap,
the red thrush breaks the acorn’s shell,
and it comes to one’s mind,
that we are like that acorn;
broken, and about to be devoured.
She tapped the glass,
wondering if she would ever break out of this
where society molded you.
An untrained sculptor forming
Playing God, but in a mortal form,
like last time.
Guess they never told you,
you’ll never be finished.
When no one came to see her,
she tapped harder on the glass.
She tapped out a plead in Morse Code,
a cry to be free.
No one tapped back.
She beat her dainty fist on the glass,
wondering if she remembered signing up for this.
No one heard her fist.
She cried out
But all that came out were bubbles,
empty words and soundless cries
for freedom that nobody would hear.
— The End —