Like the rising sun,
the silver lining the clouds,
the break of dawn
after a storm,
it's been compared to it all.
I've had three decades
of lessons in hope.

Years one to ten;
as defining as they could be,
these were the years I felt
the most powerful and free.
I left strong impressions
on all walls and windows
where I banged my head
and thumped my hands
I yelled, screamed and bellowed
My anger and frustration
Of having always been left behind
And the constant wait for my
Parents to pay me any mind.
There were countless fascinations
Like pens, books and TV,
When boys could be friends
And nobody would look twice
When I had short hair and ***** hands
And didn't act like a good girl,
Meek and comely.


Years eleven to twenty
was like a roundhouse kick
left my heaving and breathless
and it behaved like a *****.
I'd paint it all in black,
Which I more through most of it,
Angsty, brooding and dark,
lost, empty and afraid,
I discovered parts of me
That never before existed
And I climbed that *****  of esteem
After picking myself up from the pit.

Years twenty one to thirty
shaped the way I think today
made me feel secure in my skin
naked, scarred and less afraid.
I thought my self the master
Having now conquered it all
Work, travel and money,
I was so focused on soaring high
I was not prepared for the fall.
And fall I did, so hard,
I shattered all illusions
Of love, friendship and family
dreams and masked delusions.

Three decades I've lived
and the fourth I have begun
I've felt the entire spectrum of emotion
Transcnded them all but one.
That deep yearning I feel
Is my last nugget of hope,
Fall mindlessly in love
And be loved in return,
The sole wish I now hold.
And till I hit age forty
Hopeful I'll remain,
For I banged my hands,
and got my way,
Tried other colors
Moved away from black,
Grew my hair long
Left home as a little girl,
I grew up and came back.
I did the impossible,
Or what I had so deemed,
So the lessons in hope continue
And the rest is now to be seen..