I’m lying in bed burying myself under pillows and blankets,
hoping if I tunnel far enough I’ll find Narnia or Wonderland; Hell, Middle Earth would do.
I didn’t always want to run away but it seems that’s all I can think of these days.
This place has never felt like home, I’ve never felt like I belong.
I’ve always felt more like a flower growing where flowers shouldn’t be able to bloom.
Too delicate for my surroundings but resilient enough to keep sprouting each year.
I dream of the day I don’t have to be resilient anymore,
but they tell me my beauty comes from my strength.
I hope I’m radiant because some days my petals feel awfully thin.