as a baby
I shed a tear
to tell you of all that ails me,
until the words
start to form;

now tears
still come often,
more, perhaps,
and I am entitled
to that which you give to me.

as a child
I walk
with my nose in the air
as to not directly
inhale my perfume

of arrogance
so sloppily sprayed
on wrists and neck;
underneath,
a faint scent

of fear and despair
lingers.
as a young girl
I hide
behind fear and despair

worried of seeming
arrogant.
oh,
how the tables
have turned.

as a young woman
I shed a tear
to tell you of all that ails me,
but words
never form.