And as I'm walking to the bathroom,
I'm thinking:
What if I did have you?
Would your hat on my head
be more than some scraps
of white and blue?
But they already are.
Regardless of what you think,
when I'm wearing your hat
and you look at me,
there's something there.
Just something.
It could be small,
it could be the stars.
It could be a slice of who we truly are.
It could be nothing,
but on the chance it's something,
I'll wear the hat with pride
cause it means I'm not everybody.
YOU ARE READING
The Tempest Collection
PoetryIt's icy and suddenly it's my job to clean it up. Good thing I sort of know what I'm doing now.
