Time sits in my pocket,
a glistening mirror
from years past.
it is easy to forget
what day is it
(as if it really matters)
when you are running with the wind.
eyes to the clouds,
my daydreams are wild horses
running away from man.
often times I open my hands
and water falls through,
hydrating,
yet my pores are full of sand and dust.
it has become an addiction
to taste different lands
never settling in dark corners and sunny beaches
I follow the yellow lines on steaming concrete,
intuition kicks me when its time to go,
time to grow.
I am unsure how I will adapt to four familiar walls
the waves may only
pull me out to sea
until i live amongst the mermaids.
so much changes
at the snap of tired fingers,
i forget to breathe
and my stomach cramps,
yet the trees of your forest fill me again.
to live on the edge
is to swallow passing clouds
tickle the hearts of fellow birds
and sprout wings.
freedom is the only drug i desire
it dissolves on my tongue
and i become these constellations
that sit in your eyes.
freedom