My flower’s roots glue me down among the wet soil in which the thunder has stunned my growth. Maybe I’ve already grown through the storms and the sun is delayed in its rising.
I was in love with my own chaos, gripping tightly onto fantasies, falling into traps that swallowed me whole. I am in awe of how chaotic I am, as falling hard into my own trap saved me from who I became.
His skin sparkles like beach sand his eyes dancing endlessly with the sun for when his light embraced my darkness, I then understood why people prefer summer over winter.
It’s hard when all you want is the sky, chasing after the hues of pinks and blues, feeling that for once you’ve got a grip on clouds that swoosh through storms of your own. But it’s worse when you ask for the sun and receiving the soil stuck to your feet.
