It doesn’t stay the same, but neither do I

Sunshine and dirt,

which smells of vanilla

and passion fruit,

swirl through my head like a delicate whirlpool;

I long for a day when someone

would write secret messages in

the dirt, running fingers back and forth, and grow butterfly weed in the sunshine, creating a masterpiece only meant for me

to get washed away with the next storm.

I long to have a sea of hair

or a sunset of violet and gold,

to have a rare beauty apart of me

so then maybe you'd see I have

my own personality,

but I love sunshine and dirt

too much to throw it away on

a passing sunset or ever changing

sea of aquamarine.

But perhaps one day

I can try to find that

other part of me;

but for now

I'm okay with

my regular amenity.