Cows

The faded sky cries.

These eyes can’t.

I’m over it all though,

Of course.

Wind flies between my fingers.

Take me away.

Fast.

Please!

Cows feed their babies.

Where’s mine?

Can I be a cow?

That would be more funner.

I wish I were a poet.

That would be romantic.

And dramatic.

But I’m too tired tonight.

Let’s go to Cuba.

Forget school.

I can be a maid!

Can I be yours?

So, I think we should get married.

Cuz I like you

And today you said my ears look good.

I think that’s a pretty good reason.

I’m not high,

FYI, Mr. Polo-and-Sperry’s!

I’m going to be a real counselor when I grow up.

Since I guess I can’t really be a cow.