When I was thirteen, that tender age, I wrote poetry and I was able to cry
But now it doesn’t come easy, crying that is
Maudlin-a word a young man used to describe me when I was thirteen
And now people call me a good time and enjoy my company
When I was thirteen people knew my heart was crying and my mother told me I was a fool
but now everyone thinks I’m laughing and crying out with joy
Am I all the wiser now? You know I’m still a fool-
But where will it take me?
I used to dream alot when I was thirteen
Now I dream about when I was thirteen
It seems that now dreams are expectations and lately I do not know what to expect
When Daddy died, I expected things were going to get better because death is the ultimate teardrop
But I think I was wrong because black lace and roses is alot more poetic than dark long caverns
of nothing but pools of tears at its base.
You see we are just individuals with no hope that our lovers and friends will just understand us
So we run into the security of white lace and roses and it even makes us more alone
Because one and one never make one and that’s what we don’t know
It’s even worse when you believe you’re half and you care constantly seeking for someone to complete you
When I was thirteen I daydreamt about enchanted forests with magic trees and wood nymphs
My fantasies were painted with hues of sunshine and carpeted with leaves of gold
Now when I transport my dreams to faraway places and I get lonely and scared
Back in those years of innocence and naivety I used to give my mother a present on her birthday and expected a party for mine
But this year on my birthday, I think I will send her roses and thank her for bringing me into the world
I think I will also thank her for protecting me in her womb, that really deserves thanks
And now I have the capacity to make babies and I get maternal instincts
Oh, even though its a tough world and sometimes I have nightmares, I still love being alive
But