Bloom.

I'm hungry and hurt, lonely and
unsure, I wish there was a way out
of my skin, a somehow to pluck off
my soul and die on this earth while
I float away toward something more.

It's not your fault, I whisper to myself,
is just the way you move, I observe
and am attacked with thoughts of how
to be like you, a sunny picture in the
backdrop of someone else's storm.

But the rain washes all darkness away, pale
sunlight smiles and I bask in thoughts of flowers in
full bloom, somehow bitter, how we are never old
enough to know better, somehow proud, how we die
and die again knowing we will only grow stranger.

Scrapped knees and raw palms, one more time kid,
I look at the sky with unsteady breaths as I never
grew tall enough to face my fears, but I've learned
that being in love with the universe gives a strength
to fragile bones - a strength some can never find.

Watch those flowers grow but don't look back, we're all a
mess made out stories soon to collide, starving for inspiration
with only watered-down passion half forgotten at night,
one more time, try to dream while everything else burns
down, waiting to bloom, soul dancing with fallen stars.