Sometimes
I feel five.
Like the world is big
and I am small.
And there are kids all around
bigger than me,
louder,
scarier,
bolder than this softness
that folds me
like tissue.
(No one else folds like tissue.
Just me.)
The softness of me at five
lingers;
a scent
(like lavender)
on the breeze
of my soul.
The softness of me.
The softness of me.
