As I page through the turbulent years
of my hefty book of life,I see so many painful, tragic tears.
Days filled with too much brutal
strife.
Memories of an intense, little girl stays:She was so serious,often sombre, sad.
She had been isolated, shy in many ways
Alone, friendless, no reason to be glad.
Secrets followed into adult-, womanhood..
Bleakness shifted with falling in love..
Filtered lightness prevailed, felt so good..
But a man, men, kids brought confusing, complicated stuff..
So what of me, my book of life remains?
Just someone sad and older, forever in emotional chains..