I want to be a mountain, my peak as sharp as a stone engraved knife made with care.

I want to be viewed and explored, loved and remembered. A memory with a clear face and a grass cloak with a valuable interior and n enjoyed exterior.

I don’t want to be a sketch with my close features not gazed.

I want to disappear and fade with the mist. Clouds covering my face until I am ready to return.

I don’t want the worries of no imagination or the features of an Ork from the storybook. Although an elf would be nice. I don’t want to feel like freedom costs life. Instead I want life to be free, free of the pressure and pain

And when my day comes my blossom will speak.

By Corrie Young