On Turning Sixteen

So simple a journey before
Cobwebs made reality of doubt
Robbing the sword from
A self-declared knight.

Hopeful is not the word in mind,
But closest to the reality
Which has become my being.



Half a lifetime has spun into
And out of recognition
Since I was a conqueror of Arabian princes;
The only queen in all the universe
To cross thousands of miles and touch first the line,
Coated with sand, but victorious
While mounted on my glorious
Stickly steed.

Seven brought bars and beams,
Floors and falls
To an Olympian in training.
Golden medal followed golden medal
As I stood rooted at the top of the line of seven year old gymnasts -
Someone forgot to inform me
I was far from Dominique Dawes.

At five a cowgirl chased villains for miles,
Mounted on painted wooden companion,
Shoe string reins and orange topped pistols
Always accomplished the impossible.



Some say we must not glance over our shoulder
For the past cannot be changed
Or worn trails be re-walked.
Yet who are they to ask
That I erase myself of all that was
So I may become who I might be?

My reality,
The facts, the fictions, the fantasies,
All lie within the pages I keep hidden;
My life in print, as inspired by the blood and tears
Of a world that pales in comparison to what I've made of it.

My life is a living fantasy.
There are days so bright my smile gets sun-burnt,
And nights so dark that even the hopes of stars fear to shine.

But in the twilight betwixt of the two
I find the strength to carry on
The dream which restrains itself no more
To the boundaries of the unconscious.

So I’ll write, for now,
And spend later cruising on an asteroid belt
On my way to see the rest.