I look into the night sky.
The clock is ticking.
The moon is sleeping.
I am waiting.

A little girl with a pure kind heart,
messed around a little too much.
The clock is ticking and I wait
for the moment the little girl change.

The little girl will become strong and kind
and valiant and fine.
Though deep inside she might still be shy,
a strong front she will put outside.
The clock is ticking and the time has come.

It is twelve of the very next day,
which many years back in a small white room,
the little girl was born in a pair of arms so warm
and laughter and tears coloured the room.
A smiling father with an exhausted mother,
but everyone in the room was celebrating,
for this very day many years back,
the girl reading this was born.

The clock is ticking.
The moon is gleaming.
The clouds are floating.
The dreams are living.
I am writing.

The clock is ticking and I say
I love you
and I will never regret having you in my life
and I wish you will always be happy on this day every year
because the clock never stops ticking
and people never stop changing.

But today is the day we celebrate the little girl who has changed
in ways big or small,
good of bad,
drastic or subtle.
We celebrate because
I love you.
*We love you.

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again

sometimes I shut myself in the toilet cubicle just to be true to myself.
I shut myself inside the four grey walls just to let myself breathe,
breathe in the foul stench of reality.