Odessa Prodafikas, Poetry

As I learn about the bridges that may burn

And what was once heard as something we will earn

Turns into a whirl

Of just imaginary things that never once were


And who I am is just to be heard

Like a simple bird longing for a fern

Hoping I won’t burn

Things won’t take a turn

My mind won’t hurt

And my stomach won’t churn


And suddenly I deserve was I earn

And forget about all the stuff I yearn

And there is no concern

To be what once was and not the things that never were