God Of War And Gorgeousness Poem by Sienna Berenice

Everyday I wake up and make a critical analysis of how high
my fame has risen.
I wait and wait expectantly for a new letter in my
mailbox or a bird perched over my roof.
A bird carrying the symbol of good fortune.
I wait above the rushing waves,
perhaps there is a world beyond the ocean
perhaps I should drown
perhaps I should wash up on the sand to be found
perhaps I should be resurrected and handed a life
that is not my own.
Perhaps I should survive because survival
means more than just being alive.
Perhaps there is a destiny that starts with the letter h,
perhaps he wears colorful shirts and dances and trains other dancers,
perhaps he has brown eyes and is made of ice,
but either way he is the city, and I wait for him
with closed eyes, and an open mouth, ready to capture his rain.
I'm ready for the storm to blind me
I'm ready.