I was born from pink skies; the hands of greatness handed over
my crystal name. I was born to expectant stares and
vacant calls. I was born a mystery and a spell, unresolved but
for the lips that whispered the path my feet would shape.
I came already knowing that when rain falls,
the best way out is to open your arms and let the drops
wrinkle your skin. I was labeled mute and oblivious, yet all
of my words were already tucked in my mouth,
waiting to be spoken. I gave thought, I gave wishes,

I gave the kind of love that makes you want to cry.
I was born with a pen wrapped around my fingers, I didn't
need lessons to write my story. I was born with courage to imperfection,
my name was scrawled outside the lines. I had walked
a long way before I was born. I was born waist-deep hopeful,
looking back at the reflection in my mother's tearful eyes and
smiling at the beauty her face offered. I arrived like when
lightning strikes, both beautiful and spine-tingling.
I was born to a decision and from a decision. I touched
hearts before I could reach for a glass of water; I took
a piece of sky with me before I was born.