A vessel of infinite imaginings woven
in the kaleidoscope of innocence,
seeing you for that moment,
as life breathed you into my arms.

Fluid motions of gratitude, as noses
met and a smile versed on daddies
eyes. Wonderment that this innocence
had a mothers beautiful eyes.

You were a little box of crayons,
the randomness of your expressions
drew smiles upon a grateful parents
faces, gazed at you with gleeful reflection.

You were a gift to our memory, a story
to verse on your years yet to pass.
Your our little box of crayons, waiting to
see which colours draw upon our lives.

Dress up, small talk, smile pleasantly,
Sea of faces, people you hardly ever meet
Smirk and tell me I've changed so much,
Well, of course. You never bothered to keep in touch.

As an introvert,
it's actually exhausting for me.
All I want to do is run away
back to my lonely room,
I don't hate people,
I just can't keep up with the small talk.

A seperate bubble
segregates me, detached from the world of social pleasantries.
I am not shy or diffident,
I am just an introvert, comfortable with my inner environment.

What I have thought over and over in my head, what I have put into words in my little pocket diary, what is simple and crystal clear to me in solitude; totally gets muddled up in social situations.

Solitude is my peace. I take time to get comfortable around someone.

-Hello there.
-How are you?
-Nice. I left my phone in my room. I'll go get it.
(hurries by)

Mum: Are you hiding? They won't bite you, you know?
(sigh)

Adalia Rose.
9 years old.
Sassy, funny, lively and cheerful.

But her identity is incomplete,
without the blaring neon sign
DIAGNOSIS. DIAGNOSIS.

Yes wherever she goes,
at first, she's not Adalia Rose.
Her diagnosis is the first thing that shows.
She has progeria, you see.
But she is tired of all the pity.

She doesn't dream of being a man's princess. She never did.
But she likes fairy tales and Finding Dory.
She never dreams of being swept off her feet into a castle with glass stairs.

She just wants to live, smile and be happy. She finds reasons to smile about,
instead of holding on to the biggest reason she's got to frown about.

Drool over the oiled up Vogue models
posing like queens of the world,
And then quickly avert your eyes away
'cause jealousy is one of the traits of a girl.

Groom your face,
dolled up grimace
As if a camera is always revolving around you.

If I can laugh and love and feel,
Why so desperate to be beau idéal?
If I can walk straight without the heels,
Why so desperate to be beau idéal?

I will breathe in this life,
Free myself from the inside,
I am not obligated to
shape myself and fit to your conditions.