There are things that we so desire;

Fragments of once could be’s left sizzling next to the wake of an open fire

A sore and unruly rest for those who bare no need to transpose,

A romantics lust for love is as sheer as the daydreamers dream I suppose.

We don’t confide the things that yearn in the hollowed depths of our soul;

That in which age and mature vastly inside us, for that they’ll never know-

And when given the chance one might never give in-

Because vulnerability is best when it’s bared in  hidden.

You can look in the eyes of another and see their truth revealed;

Their words yet still cascade fabrication of a world never revealed

We hide, we squander, in life’s most precious things,

But behind our synthetic candor; we all know why the caged bird sings



~Breanna Womble

2:01am