T enty Something

it’s the color of the ocean when I can’t sleep, it’s the years I swallowed the stars and burned through every paperback dictionary for the answers. i’m growing uncertainly in flower pots next to windowsills. dreaming of saving the world barefoot, finding new ways to pick flowers off the trees, and fitting glittering cities into sundress pockets when I want a taste of home. becoming someone who does the whole rainy sundays, elbows in butter and eggshells kind of dance while listening to stevie nicks. the hue of a rose tinted river, the sky simmering as it slightly stains my hands, my hair, it happens to you too. it’s so perfect that there is not one photograph, not a single out of focus polaroid that can capture these existences. instead, it’s putting a seashell up to your ear and hearing your entire life echoing inside it. Poetry 13