There are so many things I would like to share and so few people I can share them with. After all, I am no longer a giddy fourteen year old, walking home with her friend and giggling over the newest screen idol. I am supposed to be a mature adult, the matriarch of my family, with both feet solidly planted and a mind that is settled and set.
But I have a writer's mind and a poet's nature and what butters my bread, keeps my life jiggling like a bowl full of jello in a wind storm. I am no more sure of myself in some ways than I was at twelve and yet, I am so much more passionate, and entrenched so much more deeply in this living than I ever was before..
You may stand firm on the deck of a sailing ship, but I am up here fluttering in the sails, soaking in the sunlight, quivering in the mist. The leaning and the listing frightens me, but I cannot go to port. I am not ready to pull into some sort of dry dock, tuck up my belongings and be put away in the dark, dank confines of a safe house. Neither do I want to find myself broken upon the rocks, exposed to the ridicule and scorn of an intolerant world.
Come, play with me, just pretend we are six. It's as innocent now as it was. I'll be the old woman in the shoe and you can be whoever you like.
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