all she does is make stars all day,
all she dreams is for another way.
sits by the windowsill and stares
searching the dark clouds for tears.
fingers curling, hanging on the very edge
so maybe between those stars she'll wedge.
on droplets of dew and dust,
desires to tip-toe away, sure-footed with trust.
reaching out to the stars above,
her paper stars she only loves.
engrossed only with her fingers,
a taste of freedom on fingertips lingers.
on the windowsill she waits,
and dreams of days away from those that hate
to jump to the shining stars
and erase all of her scars
she grasps the end of the glowing trail
and hopes it will wisp her away without fail.