there was a girl that liked the moon

there was a girl that liked the moon

and the stars, and the fireflies,

the sunset, and the sunrise,

the clouds, and the heavens, too.

she spent her nickles on daydreams,

her dollars on fantasies,

her time and thoughts on

words and worlds

that were not her own.

she'd weave melodies she'd almost heard before,

and spin tales never uttered.

she was a mess on unended sentences,

a flurry of hurried thoughts.

she was grounded in reality,

aware of everything,

aware of the falsities murmured to her.

she didn't live in her own world,

for her world was far too wide to be alone.

she invited strangers in for tea

and kraft macaroni and cheese,

and they would leave.

but it was alright,

until it wasn't.

she was oblivious,

until she wasn't.

she was loud,

until she wasn't, or was,

i can't remember.

her thoughts were well-ordered chaos,

an unending cyclone of recycled ideas

because she hadn't quite figured the world out yet,

but she had figured out those who had.

she borrowed words--precious words--from them,

almost her own, almost unique,

until one day, she figured it out,

and she didn't borrow words anymore.

she'd discovered a voice.

she was scared of it

and zipped away any words it threw out,

shouted, and hid again.

she was good at conveying

everyone's emotions,

but couldn't piece out her own,

just citing shared experiences.

she fooled everyone into thinking

that she was transparent,

but she was opaque.

and that voice decided to take over;

she resisted it for a while,

until it reminded her

about the moon and the stars,

and the fireflies, sunsets, sunrises,

and the clouds, and the skies.

in a rush to be uniquely plain,

she'd forgotten the sight.

but the voice sighed words to her,

words she didn't believe,

until she did,

or not.

i can't remember.