Stuck in the middle of three familiar faces,
Trapped in the core of colorless thought,
To exist, the gal must eliminate the beauty of sharp autumn leaves,
Dropping back into bland flakes of an aged trees dead skin,
One must paint- alive- velvet streaks of rebellion,
Forget the Past,
To grow, this gal must soil the seed with warm fingers,
Pop the pressure and allow the lungs to lay low,
Consider the movements of an ink-blotted splatter, as space in a frozen lake,
Remember the little girl they use to pamper,
Free the chained doll and give life to a blackened heart,
Forget the Future,
Blossom the flower, soon to be in the fullest bloom,
The sun rises twice for the one who speaks romantically,
Entertain elders with a new generation of enthusiasm,
Be the woman whom creatively ponders as a mature adolescent,
Grab hold of the most valued gift you desire and expand from those branches…