I am the color of the sun, always the same person, yet maybe a shade different.
I am the song of the birds as their melody wakes my slumber,
Inverted angels watch from under.
The rocking chair in my grandmother’s room, a leaf in October, the crescent moon.
Afraid of dying I am not, the fear of living shows a lot.
I will succeed.
I hide for protection; sadness hides within me.
I let go of my father, the missing socks in my closet.
I am a dreamer. I have never forgotten, not once.
I love the smell of rain,
Pure.
I was naive.
Thirty-Nine times,
Thirty-Nine letters.
I remember when that wish came true.
I release my memories to no one.
No trust.
I watch through the eyes of others, blinded by my own.
Paralyzed.
I will not be anyone I have encountered.
I will be me.
I am my own miracle.