I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still

How we need another soul to cling to.

Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?

I am what I feel and think and do.

I was supposed to be having the time of my life.

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.