Oh how I wish I still had my voice
Full of fire and frogs and falcons,
Wisdom, water, and wedding songs.
Something is quenched within me now,
No time for me to find out how,
To prevent this erosion of my character.
Once upon a time I thought I’d never stop
I wrote until my hand would drop off
And the sun rose once again.
I am scared, I am frightened;
I am losing track of me
But I guess, since I have never been here
That at twenty three,
It’s called maturity.
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