she races through her mind, all the time
wondering
when?
where?
why?
how?

she sits in the shallows
sighing in her own drowned out howls
wondering
where?

she breathes in the dusty air
scrunching her hair
wondering
why?

but she looks to the sunset
flourishing in its beauty
secretly wishing she was of beauty

she wonders..
how?

she falls back
hoping to be of a catch

she hopes for the best
but expects the worse
because what is worse than what she hasn't already experienced?

she whispers,
I am a useless tinker.
I am delusional.
I am something yet, of nothing.

the wind..
it is what kisses against her cheek
and says,
you may be of the above,
but you are not anything less than a dove.
and I promise, you'll soon get the answer to when.
so please, do not clip your wings,
because who I am to have to caress?
or to softly brush the feathers on your back?
Because you do need an answer to how, correct?
well then let me show you how, and you will get your answer to when.
                                        (m.s]