Reveries,
and silent dreams,
of which I wake from when I sleep.
If I dream,
if I don't just lean into thoughts
that knot up my stomach like strings,
of frail thin hair from a pale little girl
who sat on the floor.
Passively watched the world,
and it's hard to understand when you
can't feel things.
And it's hard to count stars when you're
staring at your ceiling.
It's hard to love your angel kisses when
you've never had wings.
It's hard to leave everything behind
when it's all you've ever known.
All you thought was kind.
But was harsh,
like bark of the oak
that you fell from.
The scrapes and the scar from the
branch that you broke off,
will fade.
Things change,
like the skins the snakes shed off,
I will scream out my pain,
I will change.