Comments about Brittany House
Reflection; Self Examination
I walked outside,
small steps counting high-class ghetto,
the sidewalk was warm;
it heated my frost-bitten toes
until a burning fever ran up my spine.
I stepped on the cracks
because every mother dies,
and even my eight year old sister know the definition of
Beauty shone bright through puddles of
imaginary but well-needed rain,
and I splashed my way through every cloud.
I need air,
my lungs want life.
So, if you want to find me,
follow the footprints made of sky.