My prays hit the roof and turn to dust,
Worth no more than rust-
My words and heart lay on the floor around my feet,
I scream dut it appears no one hears-
Someone please see my tears!
Beautiful things are to made outa dust,
Maybe this is how I learn to trust-
Don't all fall before walk?
And although right now I simply try to survive,
It is written in blood I shall to thrive-
Although I'm scared, although I'm small,
As it is written in crimson ink fears a lie after all.
On waves I'll dance, under waves I will not sink,
Beautiful things are to made outa dust-
Beauty was found in my unheard words,
Perhaps prayers go above the ceiling?
Turns out someone heard all my screaming.