I guess you could say that I
Refuse to sit right down to cry.
All I'd rather do is wander the streets,
Talking to the strangers that I would meet,
Each one so much more weirder than the last!
Some days I sit on a cold boulder,
Entranced in my thoughts. My shoulders
Nearly as rigid as my face, my stern, angry, yet
Timid face. I choose to ignore the livid stares I get.
I choose to look this way, talk this way, write this way.
Many say change is in the wind. No. Not for me. To the bay
Every morning do I look to see if these fortunes are somewhat true.
No. Why change now after years of being this way? Why become new?
Time has worn me down to a pebble of hope; I wasn't happy, but at least I was
So proud of what I had become until you came and threw this pebble of hope away!