I can see the moon when it’s masking its face behind the glow of the sun and I can hear pain when it’s trying not to scream. I’m a mix of this that and some other things, spun together to make me into a girl who sorta kinda never has any idea what she’s doing. I marvel at dandelions and their endless effort to be flowers instead of weeds. Aren’t we all doing that? Just trying not to be weeds. We’re all just being torn out of the ground that we’re rooted in and told that we’re not beautiful enough. Well you know what, contrary to popular belief, weeds are just as alive as any flower, bones are just as beautiful underneath plenty of skin and makeup isn’t made for hiding behind. I just want to build a patchwork quilt filled with every lie I’ve ever told, every hand I’ve ever held, and every life I’ve ever touched; so that people know that there’s more to me than ripped sneakers and unfinished poems.