Don't tell a rose how to grow,
And The birds how to chirp.
Don't tell your daughter to be soft,
Don't tell your son how to hurt.

Don't tell the sky what color to bleed,
And a person, the right way to grieve.
Don't try to tame your daughter's tongue,
Don't tell your son the manly ways to love.

Don't tell the wind which way to blow
Or the clouds how hard to rain.  
Don't teach your daughter how to soak,
Don't show your son how to easily reject.

Don't tell the sun to adjust its light
Or the truth how to show itself.
Don't tell your daughter it's feminine to shy,
Don't teach your son how to reign with fists held high.


Don't tell a heart how to beat
Or the mind how not to soar.
Don't clip off your daughter's  wings,
To make them a foundation for your son to grow.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
Lest it decides to turn its petal into thorns.
Don't tell the birds how to chirp
And have their voices turn into rebellious growls.

All I ever wanted was never truly enough.

So why am I always finding myself here?

Locked up in my own isolated cage,
away from all that could be happening.

My dreams haven't yet failed me,
but I've surely failed my dreams.

They've configured it all- all for all.

Yet I'm here with nothing to withdraw
from my own personal experience.

I'm drowning in a flood brought on by myself

The only light I can see is a false hope,

And the only words spoken to me are just a mere
social expectation.

I'm living in an endless void of want and desire.

It's gotten to be so intense,
I'm losing balance.

And the only way to disarm this hysteria is
for magic to happen.