I have painted many a rainbow,
in this valley where I lay.
Roaming meadow after meadow,
stroking petals as I go.
I pluck stems like gray hair
and tell myself that beauty,
it’s in the eye of the beholder.
I flood like rivers over paper thin cups,
There's always too much coming in.
Not enough going out.
I wonder where the knowledge goes,
when it finally has finished pouring?
I want to dive head first over the hills
and land in grasses softer than a
I want to swim in red clay and kick up
I have to keep reminding myself
There’s not enough air to breath.
Not enough for a fish out of water,
Not enough for a girl still on land.