I lived inside a pen in those times
Writing my life away as I teetered
On the precipice of Woman
My eyes weren't haunted yet
And the only pain I knew revolved around a crush and a broken heart
Soft plaid swishing around my legs
I could still skip and spin in circles
And the circles were still circles
And I knew the sky was blue
The sun was still yellow and I believed
That a man in a distant white palace would protect me and my family
Time still had meaning
Wasn't simply an illusion born of necessity
I lived by my class schedule and because grown-ups said
Two and Two were four it was still true, too
Fourteen was mine alone
Owned by this special but gawky adolescent whose tiny face
Was smothered by glass
It was a time for learning how to be a person and how to fight back
I was still free then
My mind belonged only to me and the Father who lived in the Ancient Book
Fourteen was a miracle of being
Real yet empty
Waiting for the canvas to be filled by dark projections
Created by my ghosts
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