I roam the streets aimlessly
searching for the stories waiting to be written
I am invisible only to my own eyes
I don't see myself or judge my own lies
Lies are the stories I wish were true
what may be real to me may not be real to you
you - the person I so wish to impress
it was you I had in mind when I put on this long flowing dress
dress, in a way you'll notice me
perhaps if you like what you see you won't look away so quickly.
quickly, before the moment has passed.
Don't read this poem too slow or too fast.
stop looking at my past, for that is behind me now
just peer up at the sky and see how I hide in the clouds.
Clouds, more comforting then a mothers whom
who shall I be if I have yet to really bloom?
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