The vines at my feet, attatching me to my ground, keeping me true to my heart.
Would I grow to feel resentment for these vines?
Would I suffer from claustrophobia?
My neck, stretching up, to get a closer look..
To seek the sky unencumbered by body, by earth.
Only leaving myself with a stiff neck
Only leaving me laying down in a bed of vines.
Would I become a plant?
Grow my roots into the soil,
and yet let the firey sky be my life force?
I'm not the girl I wanted to be.