Breathe
I tell myself
Things will get way better
My heart's heavy and light as a feather
How things have changed like the weather
While I listen to "wish I were Heather"
Just Breathe
I tell myself again
Maybe things won't get better
Maybe things will stay sad like this weather
Don't think I'll wish I were Heather
Killed the wisher in my sleep
Her blood was young and bitter
But it's better late than never

🦶🏻
Publishing this was a way of telling myself that everything mustn't be perfect or trimmed to fit in.