Curate, connect, and discover
It drips and splatters over her forearms. Crusting along each delicate finger joint and congealing where it packed into the curve of each cuticle. Painting her skin gray like the dust of age and time.
It drips onto her shoes and stains the hem of her shirt. It falls in spinning splatters to soak the denim of her jeans in thick drops.
In this mess, she gives birth to something new. There, by the potter's wheel.
One day we shall grow wings
One day we shall feel free
The thoughts that drag us down
Rip our skin
And cloud our skys
Won't be able to touch us
We will be above the clouds
In a place that no one's seen
The people who spit in our faces
Prod at our hearts
And watch us sink low
Won't be able to touch us
We will br above the clouds
In a place where no one's been
There no tears shall be shed
Except for ones of relief
And our hearts will open
We cant feel pain in the palace in the sky
Will you hold my hand as we fly?
One day we will grow wings