The sun warms my salty skin
and my pores open to let your love in.
I feel as beautiful as the ocean,
I am my greatest muse.
Today was a good day darling, see,
I have captured every second of my daydreaming,
pinned those very pictures to my wall.

And you wonder why I never get out of bed, though I keep talking about the colour palette of my romantic days.
Your wind has not shifted - but my winter has come. You can’t hear the children in me cry.

Suffocating happens through minor incidents like your softly spoken words searching for an affectionate listener.
I cannot breathe, my god, don‘t you understand?
Winter has come, and I am trapped in a fourteen-year-old‘s body trying to figure out where she went wrong.
It has been cold for a decade and the sun still burns holes in my chest.
I do not need you to understand, for you are my sun, my light, my temple. I need you to see the shadows in which I wander, the orphans I have left behind -
My skin has weathered, and I cannot find the right sunscreen to care for it.