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Minds
June 3, 2011
i move to the beat of my own drum.
trying to keep up with the soaring birds above my head.
these high expectations make my bed.
i don't care for these straight lines or any written guidelines.
i write over them with my best to keep them at their worst.
the stale taste of polluted air.
with this i wake you up little one
with a jolt
as if you're falling
you catch yourself and breath
realize it was all just a bad dream
hear these words i plead.
that will never come to be.
© Kristen D., Kenton, DE
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