I'll keep having drunken dreams
about you putting your arm around me.
I lay my head on your shoulder
and you say to someone who asks,
"this is my girl."
I love that.

There lived a man, a crooked man
Whose journey was indeed sheer folly
He had hoped to meet someone, just anyone
To share his plight and story

Many had seen him walk his crooked walk
But thought him unpleasing and crazy
We had watched from afar, afraid to go near
And we had avoided him completely

We could've looked past his decrepit state
But we invested much in seeing with naked eyes
So quickly we turned the other way
We cared not if he lives or dies

We could've helped this man
To close the journey that he had then begun
The earth would now claim his body where it laid
As his soul disappears into the sun

Know this man, the crooked man
Whose looks weighed on us a tonne
We've lost the chance to see this man
The man we conveniently chose to shun

If these walls could talk, they’d tell me to stop writing.
To stop hunching myself over a glowing laptop screen for hours at a time,
battering my brain for a story more unique than anyone else’s.
But these walls can’t talk,
so I continue to do this even though I know I shouldn’t.

it is a new day, a new hour, a new second, and i have new skin.

i'm hoping it's impenetrable, but as i fall down and scratch my knee, i realize it isn't.

i'm hoping it's smoother, but as i run my fingers over the rough scab from yesterday's tumble, i realize it isn't.

the sun is shining down on my skin, and i see that it's causing me to glow.

this has happened before, but it's different now, because it's stretching deeper than my skin.
i can feel it within.

/

the moonlight casts a shadow on my skin.
it's unsettling.
it makes me feel blue.
but i am tired of feeling blue,
so i go inside,
so that maybe i will feel green
or yellow
or red.

anything but blue,
because i always end up drowning in it,
yet here i am,
talking about it like it will not
swallow me when i wake up tomorrow morning.
or afternoon.
or maybe i won't wake up at all,
so that way i am no longer held captive
by this blue ruin.

Moments like these,
when I can feel the wild cool wind against my skin I wonder why I let him drag me down.
I am a gypsy child,
young and beautiful and too good for him.