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It’s been sixty days since I’ve put pen to paper— my feelings to ideas— who I am to what I dream— I need to read in order to fly. I need to listen in order to guide. Alone I fish the Atlantic with my fears I can’t cherish raw moments with my peers. I’ve returned to prove I’m brave. I don’t want to be normal. I want to embrace my crooked thoughts— my dry skin—I want to see colors. I’m not just living in an idea. I want to make reality my realm. Somewhere I can feel love and cherish the clouds—my spirit dust.
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Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
Summer Interlude
It’s been sixty days since I’ve put pen to paper— my feelings to ideas— who I am to what I dream— I need to read in order to fly. I need to listen in order to guide. Alone I fish the Atlantic with my fears I can’t cherish raw moments with my peers. I’ve returned to prove I’m brave. I don’t want to be normal. I want to embrace my crooked thoughts— my dry skin—I want to see colors. I’m not just living in an idea. I want to make reality my realm. Somewhere I can feel love and cherish the clouds—my spirit dust.
Tom_Berry
Written by
Tom_Berry
25/M/Tallahassee
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
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