I’m a muddle of repeated songs, odd socks and wild hair.
I care too much and yet care too little, i’m as fragile as a
porcelain doll that refuses to break when thrown against the wall,
but will chip at the slightest sign of mistrust. My hands are
a battleground of clumsiness and my skin wears proudly
the pale hue of my heritage. My eyes truly are the windows
to my soul they whisper the secrets of pain I hide
and scream of the excitement rushing in my veins.
Yeah, i’m a muddle of chaos and calm, vivid and pale
rich, enigmatic hues of a wandering soul…
Karen Hayward ©2018
image and words