i came to you for a straight path
with no crossroads and walls at the sides
to lock in my free mind as best one can;
but you built my dreams back up instead
like collapsed buildings after a war
(which, in a way, they were);
you restored me at the start.
for pocket change, you took my soul
and folded it until it was an origami crane
that soared over mountaintops and deep blue seas
and lived off hopes and wishes and dreams;
a tiny piece of paper, flower print
that came to life to watch the foxtail valleys
and toblerone mountains of my mind
and it watched the memories of me riding among the clouds
and swimming in clear turquoise waters
and crying over friendships lost.
we will always remain that way
you form me, fold me, throw me into the air
while I remain, just cellulose, pliant, never my own -
yours to be ripped apart.
it was what i came for, after all.
cs
this poem changes as much as my soul did when i was still yours.
