Wind Against My Skin
I stand outside,
The wind beating my face.
Walking over the sand,
Watching the boat race.
Sitting in the sand,
The tide closing in.
This had became normal.
I put my knees below my chin.
Wandering alone,
Wondering aloud,
I had started being me,
And was no longer part of the crowd.
They talk too loud,
And talk too much.
They're just not like me,
I know I shouldn't think such.
I'm too picky,
My mother will say.
But I just ignore her,
Day by day.
But I'd rather be out here,
In solitude to think.
So here I am,
Writing it down in ink.
I'd rather be alone,
I really don't mind.
It's not that I'm picky.
It's just my design.
I sit and write
Resting my chin.
I'd rather just sit with
The wind against my skin.
The wind beating my face.
Walking over the sand,
Watching the boat race.
Sitting in the sand,
The tide closing in.
This had became normal.
I put my knees below my chin.
Wandering alone,
Wondering aloud,
I had started being me,
And was no longer part of the crowd.
They talk too loud,
And talk too much.
They're just not like me,
I know I shouldn't think such.
I'm too picky,
My mother will say.
But I just ignore her,
Day by day.
But I'd rather be out here,
In solitude to think.
So here I am,
Writing it down in ink.
I'd rather be alone,
I really don't mind.
It's not that I'm picky.
It's just my design.
I sit and write
Resting my chin.
I'd rather just sit with
The wind against my skin.