I am three
and the grass beneath my feet
is young too
there is wind
and a bird song
and I am happy

I dreamt within the confines of my room,
              of a place where the white moments
                                              gathered in ease.

Collections within  them.

                                        Every negative
     and slowly asphyxiating gathering
being buried within
          the confides of a blanched confinement.

No longer where there shadows of before,
collecting in pools bellowing the fumes of


                                                        ill repercussions.

Instead the flakes of ******* highs drowned
             every moment out with delusion highs..


For within the white molecule,
        was a specific reflection.


And I never gazed deeply,
in fear of being
                          blinded with the truth.

Covers everything in a shallow grave
                of white mummers
crunching under foot.

Before

My feet are big
And growing ever bigger.
Large, wide,
And filling every shoe.
They stick out from me
Making flats look ridiculous.
They are like life rafts,
Falling to the side like pillows
When encountering resistance.

After

My feet are long
And growing ever stronger.
Supportive, storied,
And deserving special care.
When pointed, they are elegant,
Skeletal and muscular, even when in heels.
They are like canoes,
Chiseled and carved with love,
Gliding forward with intention.