Aarohee Hirachan, Grade 9
Toyed with, like a yo-yo tied to the string of her stream of consciousness,
Her stiff wings lie clipped together.
The moon above, a big white dinner plate reflected in her eyes.
Immersing herself into the petrichor pervading the air,
But tugged from behind.
Her emotions are so cold, yet, why does her body suffer heat?
Acting oblivious to the circle she's running,
She is pulled back to the familiar door once again.
Painting herself a clown,
To whom she felt her emotions weren’t worthy of utterance.
A sour grape she always bit into.
Yet, the narrow box of anxiety that shrunk her,
Really, held her back from the door so she didn’t fall sick to the rain.
The unease that broke down the engine of her thoughts,
She learned to embrace,
Revealing, the most graceful wings dancing in the rain.