My room is hot, but I am cold.

It’s a summer’s day but I am far away

from the spirit, my mother says I’ve lost it.

It’s a summer’s day but I wish this heat would go away.

The bare skin of my expanding thighs on the piercing leather seat of our car

burning, I’m yearning to flee off this radar.

The trap of expectations weigh heavy on my back,

A heart attack is lurking in the distance,

hiding behind the furrowed brows of a resistance

To who it is I’m becoming, who I fear is unbecoming.

I once was a daisy, with white pure petals, a presence that was o’ so gentle,

A sweet treat of a girl who blossomed in the summer heat.

Though today, my stem is curving, and water for my petals feel undeserving.

I disappoint, course only my viewpoint,

But should truth be begged at gunpoint,

Those who know me would, heroically it be,

Say they fear it is what they see of this sadder new me.

But don’t pity me, for I know not all is as I see.

For is it not true that death gives rise to new and more exuberant life?