I wish I knew my mind

I wish I knew how to speak it

I wish I wouldn’t cry when I try to speak it

I wish I had a mind


Not enough. I am not enough. 


Time to grow up for a while

How much? And how?

Will you like me better if I became an adult

Instead of the child I am

The luxury of a childhood I am outliving

Has me lacking, has shortchanged me

Every mark against me had counted

But I did not know, not till now

Have I become something I’d never thought I’d be

Someone awful

And if I have, does the indignance of not wanting to change mean anything

Mean worse?

Pretender. Stop pretending. A pretense can break.

Be. Just be.

Grow up. Grow up. Cry but grow up.

Put behind childish ways, and put on that long suffering world weariness of care

but retain the child like innocence

That is how you are valued.

For better for worse

That is you.

Feeling Little

The child in me

is in need of a good story

Something warm and friendly, like the fire in the hearth

That wraps around me like a red and green checkered blanket

Or like the rosy plume of that velvety chocolate scent

rising from the mug in my hands

Studding the night with winter stars and frosted moon

The tinkle of a lullaby, or a smooth bit of jazz

A string of fairy lights

Tuck me in with your words,

spoken and sung at the same time

Burrow me in pillow forts

Leave me some room, just a cosy corner

To feel little

In the same dream

Please don’t expect me 

To be the sensible one in this game 

I’m too weak to be sensible

I will try to be 

But I will probably end up the villian

The kind you hear

In stories about a friend of a friend of a friend 

The one who worships herself too much

To see that what she’s doing is wrong 

She can only hurt you 

And be hurt by losing you

So how about

I close my eyes 

And you don’t wake me up 

At least we will still be 

in the same dream