Is it my country,
That makes me feel I must scream,
Out my uniqueness?
My ISFP personality,
My adolescence,
Which was like a tightly closed bud?
Is it you,
Who always seems to be judging me?
Forcing me into a mold,
Once again deriding my happy self discoveries,
Which I secretly hang,
Like ornaments on my arm,
To set me apart.
Why,
Do I so often fight against,
You?
Your life doesn't look full of holes,
More like an old, musty diary,
That needs new entries.
While you were sleeping,
Before you could wake to prepare,
I grew up,
And your words,
Are not so heavy,
Cannot keep my head down.
My stem shoots upward,
In my mind it is quickly catching up to yours,
Climbing different walls,
Producing different roses,
Gathering strength from heady fountains,
From which you never drank,
Stop,
Telling me,
What I should and should not do,
So much.
Learn,
To find excitement,
In my life as it is,
What I want it to become.
Dream with me,
And no longer pull me back to earth.
I need you,
To tell me,
I can Be,
A mermaid,
A queen,
What it is that I desire,
To Dream.
I believe,
Old, musty diary,
That you forgot how,
And are only now remembering.
Do not be afraid,
For it is joy,
To conquer fear,
And life,
Is understanding,
The beauty of your own soul.
God is not the god of static things,
He Dreams.