Everyday is Fire

Plagued by the idea of it

I yearn for the warmth

~~

The fire spreads throughout

With an undying passion

All against my will

~~

I want to feel love

Through your soft, silvery words

I want to be burned

I’d like to share this poem from my 17 year old mind

It’s dated 06.09.2015

Untitled

“I ran into the old me

She looks different from the old me

She’s happy and free

She says she’s proud of herself

So peaceful and serene now

It was like netting the younger her

She

Loves every bit of herself

From her head to her toes

Even though she is not done

Growing to be better is what she does”

Sparrows > Pigeons.

No matter if I am loud,

My voice is spoken over by the crowd.

Until the crowd is filled by people like me

I do not believe I will ever be free

For freedom is a thing of birds, 

Flying high, singing words 

that people hear, praise and rise

to protect the creatures of the skies.

If I am a bird I must be a pigeon,

because no matter how loud I sing no one will listen,

Ignoring my attempts coo

all they do is tell me to shoo.

Once, pigeons were bred to be our friends,

now they are despised until they meet their end.

In cities, crowds of pigeons are only fed

by the kindest of hearts that understand.

Instead people prefer the songs of sparrows,

Aggressive, invasive yet loved like archers like arrows.

For the people prefer the prettier songs,

No matter what the singer has done wrong.

Crowds of sparrows are enjoyed, 

No one ever seems to be annoyed

by the songs of the birds they prefer,

the lesser voices will never be heard.

And so the sparrows swallow

Every single pigeons’ sorrow,

All forgotten

By tomorrow.

Even if you can fly

It wont stop the need to cry.

For freedom is a thing of birds,

Flying high, singing words 

that people hear and ignore,

I wish people liked pigeons more.

I accept these facts:

“We lose friends. They slip away.”

But I hope…you’ll stay

~~~

unicorn_onion