As I walk though the new school doors, my light, the light, me. My light, my light, shines.
My light merging with the lights of other students who pass by me.
Together, we’re bright, with a collage of color.
I still stand out. Can you see me?
My light represents me, the child with the ever-changing mind and mood. I am a mix of silvers, blacks, purples, blues and greens, colors of the waters, my element.
I bounce around, though mostly unnoticed and silent as I am.
My light is brighter than others, but that’s just my heart’s warmth glowing strong.
I am a dozen plus five; seventeen if you, like me, cannot do the math.
Although my life has just begun, I live it as if I only have moment’s left.
I started here in Washington, but here I don’t intend to stay.
I want to see for myself what I’ve seen in the books I embrace.
I have two beasts; furry black and furry gray.
Fast as lightning and small as the cracks they slide though.
My mother calls them Cats, but I call them Demons.
I live life as one long audition, sure of myself and leaving with a smile.
Believing I can do anything I dream of; all I know is what I dream.
I dream on a canvas of colors, dreaming of a reality that may never be.
Dreaming the dreams of an artist, and actress, and a writer.
Unraveling the meanings the Dream Weaver spins in the clouds and the wind moving though the tree leaves.
I understand them, and I believe in the fantasy.
Wearing masks is not a new concept. Most everyone has at least one, I know I have many; a plethora of them. Each as crazy and unusual as the next.
My masks are a part of me. No longer can I hide behind them.
They now line the walls of my forever-cluttered bedroom, under my bed and inside my closet.
How many I wear in one day has become a mystery, even to me.
They are a part of me, embedded into my skin and bone, blending in with my life.
My life, my canvas, my story, my song. They are changing and unfinished, like me.
Personal experiences, I mix them with the imagination I rely on.
I am singing my songs of up and down, of my satisfied sorrows.
I’m good, I’m bad, I’m all around.
Me.
I’m up, I’m down, and I can’t make up my mine.
I know where I’m going, and I know the direction. It’s all about how I get there.
I’m an organized mess.
My light merging with the lights of other students who pass by me.
Together, we’re bright, with a collage of color.
I still stand out. Can you see me?
My light represents me, the child with the ever-changing mind and mood. I am a mix of silvers, blacks, purples, blues and greens, colors of the waters, my element.
I bounce around, though mostly unnoticed and silent as I am.
My light is brighter than others, but that’s just my heart’s warmth glowing strong.
I am a dozen plus five; seventeen if you, like me, cannot do the math.
Although my life has just begun, I live it as if I only have moment’s left.
I started here in Washington, but here I don’t intend to stay.
I want to see for myself what I’ve seen in the books I embrace.
I have two beasts; furry black and furry gray.
Fast as lightning and small as the cracks they slide though.
My mother calls them Cats, but I call them Demons.
I live life as one long audition, sure of myself and leaving with a smile.
Believing I can do anything I dream of; all I know is what I dream.
I dream on a canvas of colors, dreaming of a reality that may never be.
Dreaming the dreams of an artist, and actress, and a writer.
Unraveling the meanings the Dream Weaver spins in the clouds and the wind moving though the tree leaves.
I understand them, and I believe in the fantasy.
Wearing masks is not a new concept. Most everyone has at least one, I know I have many; a plethora of them. Each as crazy and unusual as the next.
My masks are a part of me. No longer can I hide behind them.
They now line the walls of my forever-cluttered bedroom, under my bed and inside my closet.
How many I wear in one day has become a mystery, even to me.
They are a part of me, embedded into my skin and bone, blending in with my life.
My life, my canvas, my story, my song. They are changing and unfinished, like me.
Personal experiences, I mix them with the imagination I rely on.
I am singing my songs of up and down, of my satisfied sorrows.
I’m good, I’m bad, I’m all around.
Me.
I’m up, I’m down, and I can’t make up my mine.
I know where I’m going, and I know the direction. It’s all about how I get there.
I’m an organized mess.
