I. She wipes the tears from her eyes that never come, and saves them for the rain. Collecting each in a mason jar and promises to set them free one day. She takes her smile from her pocket and paints it on her face. Untucks her heart from the sheets that kept it warm at night, only to place it within a cage of ribs to hold it up right.
II. She pulls her hair up and knots it in a bow, so the breeze won’t misplace her soul. She smiles but it’s no more real than a fairytale that hasn’t been written in her book, for her pen does not write of happily ever afters. Staring at her reflection, her green eyes fight to look alive. Heavy breaths expelled from lungs that don’t seem to work.
III. Carry on little girl, the world is cold. Zip up your jacket and block out the sun. It doesn’t care to lay touch on skin too cold to touch the world. It is at your fingertips, ones you refuse to extend, to grab the moon and pocket more than smiles, girl you could have the stars.