This Is Dying

broken
When I press my eyelids together
And put my hands out
The floor falls in beneath me
I’m finally soaring among the birds
The sky envelopes my being
Sun’s rays warming me
It’s beautiful
To be so free
It’s a mystery
To be me
Wishing for better
Thankful for the worst kinds of weather
Blessed with the best mother
Cursed with a temperament like few others
Favorite season is winter
Because I hate the watchful eye of summer
This feeling I have
is flying
This feeling I have
is dying

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