Freshly scrubbed knees rub against one another,
as the view steadily becomes lush.
Run away curls cross the horizon,
as loose petals from entangled flowers find shelter
within those curls who have chosen not to rebel, and do as
they are told.
Spotless hands smelling of soap clutch the railing,
persistence coursing from palm to fingertip.
How I wish I could graze my pinkie over the silver mirror.
Ripple after ripple would encompass the surface,
adorning it with a creation entirely my own.
I alone would be the conductor,
maybe one as talented as father.
Tip toed, nose pressed against the wooden barrier,
the water lilies make their debut.
Just as weightless and fragile as my world.
Nothing of such beauty has ever been mine.
Trinkets and jewels hold no value, compared to this divine
gift
that could have only been designed by God.
If I could push far enough, maybe one could be mine.
Yet another flower could find its place in my unpinned mane.
Perhaps next Sunday.
Hot afternoon wind gently caresses each willow branch above,
and tosses the length of the baby blue dress, tickling my
bare calves.
Dust has settled over the polished ebony shoes,
making them look almost bearable.
This is my home.
A safe haven, where the curtains are brushed aside, and I am
raw.
Untainted by the fanciful image,
and desire of my community.
Here, I am able to slowly loosening their grip,
until I can squirm through the cracks,
and become who I am destined to be.
I need to see how far I can get, without getting lost.
