What it’s like to grow up by sundown

I am but a child. My golden locks

twisted in thick braids around my head;

I wear a crown of daisies. The flowers

always made me sneeze, but I thought

the pollen was fairy dust, so the allergy fits

were magic to me (There are far worse things

than itchy eyes).

I find solace in solitude; my only companions

are the trees. They speak wisdoms I need

to get me by, though rarely do I ask

for their opinion. They grow me like a

sapling- small and desperate for guidance

in this rapidly changing climate. Perhaps

loneliness is not an emotional response,

rather a way of life.

I feel as if I am everywhere at once

and nothing at all.

I am bloodthirsty while innocence

consumes me.

I grab fistfuls of petals and leaves, toss them

into open air, and watch as the swirling breeze

carries away the final moments of my immortality.


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