audreySL

The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.

You matter.

Not in a pastel poster sort of way. Not in a science teacher’s dad-joke shirt sort of way.

In a rain drop sort of way.

The rain drops don’t need to be there

Not all of them

For it to be raining.

Body nested in the damp grass, 
the sky gazes over my skin. 
Feet pulled by the still stars 
while the earth keeps racing. 

i used to dream

of the day

i started middle school,

thinking the excitement

of getting older

outweighed the pain

of growing up.

my teachers wondered why.

and now that i'm in

Daydreaming of writing

About the stars

With beach grass blowing

Around my face and

The smell of the sea tickling

My nose, watching