bohemianbadfish (bohemianbadfish) wrote in borntowrite,
bohemianbadfish
bohemianbadfish
borntowrite

  • Mood:

Porcelin


As If change were a foreign concept I tread steadily along the same path.  Nothing in my head makes sense anymore.  Especially you.  Its supposed to work out one way, my way.  But the pictures in my head of how it was supposed to be are long gone, burning away with the memories and dreams I had before I knew you existed.

Porcelin cups of coffee never tasted so good.  The cups, not the coffee.  Crunching down as if I were digging into a snickers at 7 years old, in this case blood sliding down the corners of my lips instead of silky chocolate. 

When your young, you want to grow up so bad so you can obtain your rights.  Your right to your own bedtime, Your right to hangout with friends past the time when the street lights come on.  Your right to breathe on your own without mommy squishing your lungs and filling them back up with air.

Then you get there.  Your standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into nothing but the top of the clouds.  The whole worlds spread out in front of you like a map.  Spinning around and around you slam your body down, eyes closed, arms spread, heart racing.  Where will you land?

 

I had a dream when I was a little kid

The dream was growing up

It happened faster than I thought it did

And now I just feel stuck

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