Lovely knees, scraped elbows
she wishes she has lovely knees, instead she has a lovely
way to see the world. she doesn't believe in umbrellas, only
the stars in the midnight sky and the raindrops running down
her neck, arms, legs, spine.
she knows things that most will find useless: there are more
stars in outer space than there are grains of sand on earth. dogs
have over three hundred facial expressions, mostly made with
their ears. the average person will spend two weeks waiting
for the traffic lights to change in their lifetime.
she wonders: what if stars are just dead pixels in the sky? what
if they are specks with worlds living in them? that would mean
that we are just a speck to someone who thinks they are alone
in the universe.
she does not get along with logic. logic is not wisdom, creativity
is. she wakes up in the middle of the night and scribbles her
thoughts on post it notes: through the forest, down to your bones.
the air sleeps under people's beds. when we get there, we'll
be lost again: send me a po