I know what wind tastes like,
and I’m not scared anymore.
I was the fallen down tree
and the kicked in window,
but this time around,
I’m the chimes with a song to sing.
Everything was so quiet back when
I was convinced everyone
hated the sound of my voice,
but I have learned since that I am
not here to make music for anyone
other than myself.
If you came here to tell me
you don’t love me like you did yesterday,
then I’m still not sorry.
That was last week’s poem, baby.
It’s your fault for never showing up on time.
Today, I only know how to say my own name,
and for the first time in years,
it isn’t standing next to a full moon
with an ocean chasing it.
Today, it is standing alone,
I am the least scared
I have been in my entire life.
Y.Z, forgiving the broken dollhouse (via rustyvoices)