November 9th.

The other me:
A loud creature,
Perpetually placed out of her own time
In a streak of moonlight 
Among specs of ash
in the glare;
Eyes burning silver
Instead of gold,
Replaced by the fear she's been living in
for much too long.

The other me:
Mature, stable
Ready for everything and anything
the world throws at her,
Happy when she fails because she knows it means she's trying.

The other me:
A wise girl,
With the fate of her own world
Tucked safely in her arms
Wrapped up like a baby,
and she knows every wrinkle and crevice,
every stroke of blush upon the skin;
paint on a perfect canvas,
a seamless shape of winter white
glistening in the summer sun. 

Comments

  1. AnonymousNovember 21, 2013 at 4:04 AM

    So, what time are you from?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Amelia MapstoneAugust 11, 2014 at 3:23 PM

      Excellent question. Still haven't figured that out yet, actually.

      Delete

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