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Joyeux Anniversaire
June 28, 2015
On my sixteenth birthday,
I am a ghost walking through Paris;
I carry candles cupped
haphazardly
in my palms,
shielding the flame.
Tempests turn on the
day of my birth,
in a city far from home.
Cracked cobblestones
line the narrow corridors,
street markets drenched in summer rain.
Artists call me "princess"
and I call myself
"lonely"
lost behind stone churches,
white paint chipping away and
morning air
stifling my mouth.
© Anonymous
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