I’m a strange bird.
Who sleeps with shades pulled up
So the street lights can flicker on bedroom walls
And cars can run through rain
And hush us to sleep.
Their lights spotting through windows.

I am a strange bird
Who cries when she thinks about growing up and leaving the ones we love,
Building another life out of entirety.
Terrified of losing what I have known to latch on to.

I am a strange bird.
With weathered tea-stained books
And old poems passed from one inspirer to another.

I am a strange bird
With her heart fluttering and flailing wildly in this rainstorm of life.

I am a strange bird.
Who craves the late hours of the night to get high off words
of pure poetry and music to stream thick and smooth like honey
Through speakers.
I am a strange bird
Who falls into dizzying happiness with just one song
To inhale and exhale
and drown in.
It is pure seduction.