Lives and experiences are soft orbs of water
flowing between palms,
the soft murmur of lovely description
scrunching between toes,
the lightning of raw truth
condensing into the same letters
as the rigid flexibility of plot

weaving so seamless
they don't realize they're crying
til the tears have blotted the page
the pure pride radiating
heart thumping on the page
when it's alive

some days, when there's a blue sky
adorned with gold and wind
beaming on my head,
I claim it as my right.

Because I want to.
Because I need to.
Because I can.


edited on: 6/30/23
Posted On: https://youngwritersproject.org/node/35464