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807 · Apr 2015
Moss.
Morgan Milliken Apr 2015
I want to be something beautiful.
I want to feel my roots grow into something stable and hold me up as I reach higher and higher so that I may, one day, touch the stars.
I want my hair to be moss and the smell of the forest permanently stuck to my clothing.
I want my bare feet to never have to see the inside of shoes again.
I want to experience something  beautiful.
I want to be a fairy that lives in the houses that little girls with tangled hair and wide eyes make for me because they believe.
I want to be able to shrink myself and see a whole new world inside a dead tree and ride on the backs of coyotes as they howl at the moon.
I crave the feeling of being something beautiful.
I want to be the dew that sparkles in the morning light as I hang from the spider webs.  
I need to be something as beautiful as Mother Nature.
361 · Apr 2015
Train Times.
Morgan Milliken Apr 2015
I can hear you call.
The whistle, drawing me out.
*You are my escape
287 · Apr 2015
You.
Morgan Milliken Apr 2015
You

I wanna write about you.

Write about how your words send chills up my spine and ignite my veins as you threaten to do harm if I have my own opinion again because I am your property and there is a 0% chance that I'll ever hear you say the words sorry.

I wanna address how your actions send my mind into a frenzy of confusion and anger because you would demand I get your permission before I do things that are clearly my choice since I am a child unable to function alone.

I want to write about your hands and now they touched all the wrong parts of me, turning my soul into the color of the night sky and covering my body with your attempts to add your own version of the solar system because my version was not what you wanted

I wanna scrawl down the color of your eyes, a dark green, and how they always seem to be full of disdain when ever you look at me or someone even utters my name because you need to be the focus of every thing and I am nothing to you but a wind up toy.  

I want to write about your tongue and how I can't tell if it's human or snake because every time you open your **** mouth I swear to god I can see the fangs dripping venom as you say that I am safe.

I want to put it in writing that  your mind is still beautiful to me after all this time and I drives me insane that 25% of girls my age feel the same way I do.

— The End —