Promise ★★★★

She wears a technicolor coat
of mismatched experiences,
of scraps of paradigms,
that don’t quite
line up at the seams.
She bears a love for life
on her sleeves,
in her pockets,
along her borrowed attitudes
and chewed on paper planes.
She wears her stolen soul backwards
because she thinks it looks better
that way.

And she says
let’s never abandon our idealism
as they drift along to the radio.
And life seems like
a promise given
in the bow of her smile,
and there is everything to look forward to,
and everything to be afraid of,
if only there were space in that car
between the breeze and their bodies
for fear.

And staring alone at the bluest sky,
sprawled out on the autumn,
fingers filled with green,

she still can’t find a place for it.