shivalihp

I hate the way he talks

But his voice sends me to laughter

I hate his hair

And yet when he runs his hands

Through it

I get butterflies

I hate the way he is everywhere

But I look for him

We both have short hair,

We could probably measure the inches,

Down to the centimeters, and the millimeters,

And it'd be the same length. 

It's just a house, they all say.

It's NOT just a house. 

Not to me, it's not. 

It's my home. 

This is where I learned, everything.

I have always loved art.

All different kinds, painting, drawing, and literally anything ...

I have even been told I'm like a graffiti artist, because I draw over EVERYTHING

I gather hope in my pockets.

Shiny stones

smoothed by time.

I think of the bird

that flew free from her cage one day,

High expectations

For myself

Fear of failing

Is something I will never

Escape

Each red mark

On the paper

Another mark

To myself

My confidence

My pride

The papers around me