Sometimes I wish
I was the window,
instead of the rain.
As the rain, I don’t
tap across the glass,
or pitter-patter,
I fall.
With a resounding rap.
Incessant, bullet-like drops
distracting you
from your rainy-day read.

Sometimes I wish
I was the candleholder
instead of the flame.
Because I’ve been warned,
The brightest flames,
burn the shortest.
And I feel one second
away from leaving,
a black hardened nest in my wake
and hot wax dripping down,
into a disgusting puddle.

Sometimes I wish
I was the baker
instead of the apron.
If I was I’d be creating something,
and someone else
could get dirty for me.
No more sweaty hands
brushing past me.
I could have soft fabric
wrapped around my waist and
tied securely.

Sometimes I wish
I was a closed book
instead of an open one.
Then someone would see
a pretty cover, take me home,
and be too invested
to return me before they’re
done reading.
Someone would care enough
to say: No, you can’t borrow that one,
it’s my favorite.

But I’m the rain on the window,
I’m the flame,
I’m the baker’s apron,
and I’m an open book.
Someone will always be there
to tell me how I will never
be anything else.
And even if they weren’t,
I would be there
to whisper it softly
to myself.

Sophia Falber is a 19-year-old writer living in Tampa Florida and studying English and Film Studies at Flagler College. Her poem “Calle Ocho y el Mundo” was published by the Hawai’i Pacific Review in April 2022. In the fall of 2022 Sophia worked as a fiction editor at her college’s literary journal FLARE. In the summer of 2022, she enjoyed an editing internship with Women Writing for (a) Change Jacksonville. Sophia is interested in all the weird and wonderful ways words work, regardless of medium, and seeks to sharpen her skills through writing poetry, short stories, and plays. She is currently working on a novel.You can get updates about Sophia’s journey as a writer on her Instagram @sophiajfalber.