Lost
I walked hundreds of miles with stars on my feet and the moon on my back, just to hand to you pieces of the earth, that I had gathered along the way. My eighteen years had gone so fast, as if I had swallowed a bottle of sunlight and shot out into space like a rocket ship, unable to steer, unable to stop. You had once said that I draw just like my grandpa, you broke my heart, in the best way possible. I carry around pencils in my pocket that smell of autumn, and a heavy hearted November. I carry them around so I can remember that I am made of art, when I forget everything else that I am. The sky jumped down at me as if I were a lost child who had just been found. I grabbed the sky with both hands, and I pulled as hard as I could, as if trying to make it collapse upon me. And maybe if it had, I would have smiled, because then I could climb across the stars, and finally i would see a familiar face. Maybe the sky was right, maybe I am a lost child. But I have not been found just yet. So I will walk on, alone except for the flowers below my feet. Alone except for the moon soaked air that coats my shadow. Alone, but surrounded by all I need.
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