This is a poem that I wrote about growing up.


I'm tired of these little girl curls...(inevitable)
And the music is getting to me again.
Why do I insist on finding new places?
Soon there will be no new places to find
Deep, hollow-sounding bells...could I hide,
Could I beg to be inside?
Games take place in my reality
And I know they shouldn't be so real to me
Yet I allow them to control me sometimes.
I'm haunted.
Porcelain shards and I wish I could forget
Unbreakable, am I?
Why did you come back...didn't you see that I
Was happy in my delusions?
Maybe I could try a different approach...
Show me the reason?
I will go mad.

And with the scissors...these little girl curls...
Fall to the ground in silent commemoration.