𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧

🖤💙𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

I was born the blonde child.
Hair of gold and amber shines in the sun.
My honey glazed eyes glimmering in every photo.
The sun kissing my skin with light pecks of its warmth.
My innocence and naivety guiding me through my journey.
My childish sweet laughs that sounded nostalgic.
No care in the world,nothing to fear or hate.
A fragile flower.
A bubble that would pop soon.
A lamb cuddling with a fox.
A doe in headlights.
I was born a blonde child.
But the gold and amber slowly faded away into darkness as my hair became dusty brown.
My honest glazed eyes slowly lost their glitter.
The sun still kissed my skin but it was less noticeable.
A ant about to be stepped on.
A ballon next to a needle.
A flame to a forest.
A crumbled up paper.
I was once a blonde child.
My hair was dusty.
My eyes only became dark and lost its shimmer.
And the sun didn't even notice me anymore.
My smile fading in photos.
Starving for help but never begging for it.
Filled with anxiety like an overfilled bath tube.
Being told what was wrong with me.
My innocence being picked away from me,
Like a child plucking the flowers petals.
Being pulled a part like a doll,and examined like an animal at the zoo.
I remember the blonde child the pride of the suns and stars,the lamb in a pack of wolves.
So I paint the starts gold into my hair trying to retrieve the innocence I lost.
Wanting to replay,restart,or anything to not be like this.
As fragile as a bomb
A bird locked in a cage
A heart slowly dying
A pencil snapping in half.
I was a blonde child.
But I slowly realized I can't repaint the starts into my hair.
So I painted the night in my hair.
As my eyes slowly glittered again.
Finding the peace in pain.
The moon kissed my skin instead.
A broken vase
A worn out shirt
A siren with no song
A body without a brain.
Now I must repaint my hair lots of times
Because of the eclipse that has become the sun
My doe eyes shine in maturity.
Now my sister is the blonde child.
She has golden locks that shine in every light.
She has stormy ocean eyes.
And the sun kisses her skin more than the sun ever kissed me.
But her laugh?
It sounds harsh and cruel.
I then notice her roots,slowly losing its gold.
As I sigh wishing she appreciated what was left of the blonde child.
Because we both are the blonde children that faded away.