the slightest touch would set me at ease, and so neglect becomes our ally, my world is never ending. sunshine and cigarettes. freckles on my shoulders. hate packed thin between my fist, love bursting at the seams, pounding with every swing. my hair is still black, my eyes are still blue. what is to come of this? i am only half the mess you think i am. i am only half the mess you take me for. kisses from the sun, peal the skin off my back, it burns as it comes in the window, soothing. i am inevitable. infinite to the thought, this world will watch me rise, it has no other choice. i long to set you free, paint my canvas in the sky. align the stars, in an order only the pure can read. this is what i see.
(click the photo stream above for myspace) hi. i'm erica jean holmes, twenty-one years young, and as hell bound as they come. i am only half the mess you think i am. i am only half the mess you take me for. i hardly sleep at night. my tiny hands and feet take turns, always being cold. composed "souly" of words, comma splices, metaphors, and run on sentences. flawed. grammatically incorrect, and i like it that way. nothing about me is anywhere near perfect and it's appealing. i'm alive again, my heart is whole again, and i'm going to be alright. i'm a very small person in a very big world, and that's okay, because i was born to word it well.
No comments:
Post a Comment