I do not want to be so hollow,
with a gaping hole between
my lungs;
I want to be the sun.
I want to be the depths
of the ocean,
with the light of the sky shimmering
through a rippling surface,
or the leaves,
hanging on to the trees
for dear life
when Summer is as good as over,
and eventually knowing it
’
s my time
to Fall, come October.
I want to be the entire month of
January, wrapped warm
and snug in a blanket of snow,
and new beginnings.
I want to grow
back from the rain
on a Sunday,
like the daisies
on the side of the highway,
and in fields,
to run barefoot
like the 7-year-old
that lives in my heart.
I want the wind
to take me away,
like a good-bye kiss blown
into a pocket, and kept safe.
I want to feel freedom
in every breath I take,
and be the fire
that burns my doubts
and my sadness
into ashes.
I want to climb
over the fear
that I have built into mountains,
and shoot like a bullet
through misery.
I want the Universe
to pour itself inside of me
However, it seems,
I am nothing more
than a tiny stream
reaching for the sea.
