You must have felt as though you were born under a tree; tangled in the roots unable to get a clear view of the sunlight that nourished you. You could hear the children laughing, without seeing what was so funny. You could sway to the music not understanding how they could keep themselves from dancing. You wanted to understand what caused this dizziness as the world revolved. There were no older siblings to make you wish you were anyone other than you.
You must have dug your way back to the surface; frustrated with your youthful limitations you turned to books, to stories, to the theater. You walked among the dead a living sprite determined to engage the world more meaningfully than your peers. You had a need to loudly reach beyond any obstacles, distracting the adults with your little girl smile, your little girl strands of soft, straight hair, your little girl legs that still wobbled upon the ground. They never noticed the old woman scrutinizing the world behind your eyes.
You must have climbed too high into the branches; running away from the confusion caused by the gds of your world. You wanted to be like them, the grown ups, but they could be so cruel, so strange. Betrayed by your brightness, some ignored you. You could take care of yourself after all. You braved your emotions and listened more carefully when they weren't talking to you. You wanted to gather all the information you could to better plan your escape, to better discover the distance you could place between your life and your broken heart.
You must have fallen from the very top of your tree; the rushing of experience and thought so exhilarating and over too quickly. You took your observations with you and didn't bother to look back, knowing what you would see if you tried. You smiled and laughed genuinely, finally discovering what you found funny, what you treasured, how to have joy. You made no apologies for your differences, you inability to "be like everyone else." You fell as though in love with the moment, the you-ness of it all.
You must have died one day; because I let you. I punished those who didn't look after you, didn't converse with you, didn't keep you from the deadly drop. I blamed him or her or whoever for letting this happen, for leaving you so alone. What good has it done? Would you ever return to me? Knowing where I've been, who I've become, would you trust me if I were so trite as to offer you my love again? Am I the sort of grown up who would have seen the old woman chuckling behind your little girl brown eyes?
You must see straight through me on days like this. You are probably somewhere laughing as I ponder your death. You are probably much older than I feel and much wiser than I'll ever be. You've strung your daisy chain and hummed your favorite songs and you most likely care nothing for the retributions I sought. I'd feel too ashamed to ask you what you know, to stop me from being myself. Still, like all good gddesses, you've shown me something towards which I must strive.
You must have dug your way back to the surface; frustrated with your youthful limitations you turned to books, to stories, to the theater. You walked among the dead a living sprite determined to engage the world more meaningfully than your peers. You had a need to loudly reach beyond any obstacles, distracting the adults with your little girl smile, your little girl strands of soft, straight hair, your little girl legs that still wobbled upon the ground. They never noticed the old woman scrutinizing the world behind your eyes.
You must have climbed too high into the branches; running away from the confusion caused by the gds of your world. You wanted to be like them, the grown ups, but they could be so cruel, so strange. Betrayed by your brightness, some ignored you. You could take care of yourself after all. You braved your emotions and listened more carefully when they weren't talking to you. You wanted to gather all the information you could to better plan your escape, to better discover the distance you could place between your life and your broken heart.
You must have fallen from the very top of your tree; the rushing of experience and thought so exhilarating and over too quickly. You took your observations with you and didn't bother to look back, knowing what you would see if you tried. You smiled and laughed genuinely, finally discovering what you found funny, what you treasured, how to have joy. You made no apologies for your differences, you inability to "be like everyone else." You fell as though in love with the moment, the you-ness of it all.
You must have died one day; because I let you. I punished those who didn't look after you, didn't converse with you, didn't keep you from the deadly drop. I blamed him or her or whoever for letting this happen, for leaving you so alone. What good has it done? Would you ever return to me? Knowing where I've been, who I've become, would you trust me if I were so trite as to offer you my love again? Am I the sort of grown up who would have seen the old woman chuckling behind your little girl brown eyes?
You must see straight through me on days like this. You are probably somewhere laughing as I ponder your death. You are probably much older than I feel and much wiser than I'll ever be. You've strung your daisy chain and hummed your favorite songs and you most likely care nothing for the retributions I sought. I'd feel too ashamed to ask you what you know, to stop me from being myself. Still, like all good gddesses, you've shown me something towards which I must strive.
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