On the first warm night of spring

I lie on my bed with my window open

The cool breeze skates over my skin

Leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake

They are quickly aided by the warm air

The moonlight splashes over my room

As the last of the color is squeezed from the sky

A false sense of comfort falls over me

As the sounds of the rushing creek

Slowly lull me to sleep

There is nothing wrong with

wearing ribbons in your hair and

twirling in your plaid uniform skirt and

dressing like a tomboy sometimes and

refusing to let anyone tell you not to

wear your heart on your sleeve;

nothing wrong with scars and

sparkly eyeshadow and

throwing a football in the backyard;

nothing wrong with changing your mind and

changing styles and

who you think you are, acting

slightly different when you wear khakis 

instead of a skirt to school;

you're

still you, and

you'll always wear it

on your sleeve.