Smoke.
She’s made of smoke,
Like ash,
Some are made of paper,
Or made of glass,
Paper people in a paper world,
Perfected,
Tucked and nipped in all the right places,
Glass people in a glass world,
Press hard enough and they crack,
Shattered dreams,
Crystals simmering sadly in the light,
But,
She’s smoke,
In a solid world,
Move her the right way and she’ll reform into whatever you want her to be,
Solid people,
Solid homes,
Rooted to the ground that grows them,
She’s never solid,
Never sure,
Always free just like smoke.
~Jess Elyssa Rose