Some days I sit and smell the breeze
To forget about the inside and enjoy what isn't me.
My mirror becomes the meadow surrounded by trees
And the knobs on my knees are the roots underneath.

On the days I feel weak, I go to this place
Where the dew of my eyes becomes the rain.
Until it fills in puddles with the sun embraced;
Caught in its reflection, never to come out again.

I wish to be more like the sun; to know it is trapped
And not try to run is the strongest concept I know. 
It flourishes proudly wrapped in blue silk,
Confident that the rain will dry up tomorrow.