I am made out of magic,
& stories quite tragic,
Composed by the cosmos,
The stars and the static
A brown skinned girl
With an American tongue
Still somehow confused by what it means to be young
I’m a girl whose grown into
The child that I was
The same dreams and passions
Still deep in my blood
Where have I been,
& where am I going?
The trick is to keep moving
Without ever knowing,
I have cried at the beauty of being whole on my own,
Discovered what strength is by being alone,
Built my own home from the boughs of my bones,
While still learning to carry the weight of my soul.