Writing

I am from 

My hip-dysplasia harness and 

My teddy bear blanket 

I am from my dog that always slept beside me 

Even when my parents locked the door 

For the last four months since I lost my job, my daughter Willow and I have been living in the abandoned parking lot where the old Merry-Go-Round store used to be.

To be young is to feel the grass growing beneath your feet 

And wander through the woods aimlessly 

To see the little, quiet things unnoticed by all else 

And say, 

I sit in polished classrooms
behind gates and old brick walls,
arriving in quiet cars
that glide past the lines outside.

I think I might drown

From the weight on my shoulders

Expectations,

Hopes,

Dreams.

I want to meet them

I need to meet them

Dirt road, springtime

Air wet with snow

Evaporating,

Roads soft,

Like new petals.

Girl, brown hair

Pony tail