"Forget not that the Earth desires to feel your bare feet and the wind longs to play in your hair." --Kahil Gibran
oyster shell castles
sit proudly beneath the moon's face,
secretly waiting.
I am a shadow
knowing nothing besides the
stark absence of light
mud under my nails,
my hair smelling of marsh musk.
I let it remain.
By the time I realize I've never
seen the Bay in November,
December is already here.
Other people would tell this story differently, and none of them would be wrong. (Barbara Kingsolver) Mostly stream of consciousness writing by a young queer person with too many words.
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