The Face Of Childhood From A Teenager.

Sinful words from my tongue come back

and let me curl myself back up into my childhood.

Before Jessica died,

before the disease stripped her bones of their laughter.

Before I lost my love

within the spark of him.

Before life was filled with such doubt.

Oh, seething girlish innocence

come back down to me.

I want to kiss my purity

and fill myself within the happy mold of myself.

I could be wild

and crazy

and remain untainted,

unchanged.

I am a poet,

a weaver of words

but what I wouldn't give for childhood to wrap its warm arms around me again,

comfort me with its smooth voice.

To live in a land where tears are foreign

where blood thirsty leaders are banned

and led away in chains of remorse.

My curly hair could be unkempt again

and I could play.

Play~

lord, let me make believe again.