There is a jaggle of masonry here, on a small hill
Above the gray-mouthed Pacific, cottages and a thick-walled tower, all made of rough sea rock
And Portland cement. I imagine, fifty years from now,
A mist-gray figure moping about this place in mad moonlight, examining the mortar-joints, pawing the
Parasite ivy: "Does the place stand? How did it take that last earthquake?" Then someone comes
From the house-door, taking a poodle for his bedtime walk. The dog snarls and retreats; the man
Stands rigid, saying "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "Nothing to hurt you," it answers, "I am just looking
At the walls that I built. I see that you have played hell
With the trees that I planted." "There has to be room for people," he answers. "My God," he says, "That still!"

Im that same little blue eyed girl who walked into walls before you knew I was blind.
That same jaggle-toothed imp who got busted for staying outside too long.
The crazy tomboy who hit a home run, sliding so fast she skinned her elbow, knees and arms.
Winning and grinning that victory smirk

Im the same punk *** teen that razored her hair
With blackebd eyes to old for her face.
The same lonely girl trying to make some space.
The sweet hearted goth with sarcastic smile.
The Greenday ****** against it all.

There was a time where the music stole my soul.
Only to return it shattered over a boy I didnt care to know
But it came back with a vengence.
To play rock band with the strings on my heart.

Now tattered and tatted I stand before you now
All all grown up the early phases of my life set free
Shifting like a camilion I am all these things and not.
But dont confuse me
Im better than ever before
Im not searching for it anymore
I am free of what used to be me.

Life is like a merry-go-round
What goes around comes around
Mistakes and failure flowing like energy in a circular motion
Don't know what perfection is, coz to me, there is nothing like practice practice makes perfect,
For the more practice I make the more mistakes I make,
My eyes blinded with negative thoughts in my mind, not knowing what's good and best for me,
Not realizing my purpose in this life,
I take my pen, writing down my failures to ten,
Finally, I discover my merry-go-round failures and mistakes that battle me like in teken,
Finally, I discover my everyday weaknesses,
Finally, I get to ***** out the source of problems within my ego,
Finally, at my longest battle of self acceptance,
I see solutionsvti to the source of my problems,
Finally, a new strength emerges from within,
As these thoughts play a teken battle(+ve and -ve),
I finally get help and a catalyst if the solution to all my problems,
As easy as it may sound in my kinywa, another problem appears,
I write down the solution,
I calculate its formula, and creat  more formulas to jaggle my soul a bit,
I recite, and cram all what is needed for my solution,
I practice practice practice practice but no perfection comes out, who ever said that practice,
practice makes perfect!
The more I practice, the more pain I get,
Wait! Maybe I should change my mentality of perfection, maybe if I only accept myself as imperfect,
Maybe,, just maybe, I let go of my ego of 'am perfect' and instead improve myself,
Aha! Another solution appears, another problem vanishes!
Finally, I can now practice my long dug solution with patience and persistence,
Finally, I can now have a clear inner sight of the solution to my problems,
Finally, at twenty, I can now taste the feeling of the results from my solution,
The solution, my solution, of positive mentality, of change of my mindset,
Finally, at twenty, I see myself greater than myself,
Finally, at twenty, I see my need for help,
Finally, at twenty, I learn the fruitfulness of humility in abundance, and abundance in humility,
Finally, at twenty, I find the greatest solution to my problems