My strings are moved by

The beauty of this universe –

The blowing wind,

The flowers that bloom,

The stars shining bright,

The ocean fiercely waving.

Only the shooting stars

Know what I truly long for.

You do not know my middle name

Yet you seem to know my story.

The wind, the flowers, the stars, the ocean –

They will not stop blowing, blooming, shining, waving

Just because you asked.

You cannot choose my name

My heart, my clothes,

My self.

I am not your marionette.

By: Emilie Cree

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