she facinates me one second
and the next disgusts me
first she embraces me
and then disgraces me
i'm awed by her potential
and grieved by her denial
where i once say a spark
i only see ember
from being passionate
she turns plaintive
she has let go of the world
but herself she is yet to forgive
wounded by the past
tormented by the present
perplexed about the future
teenage trials..
adult apprhensions
or just frivilous fantods?
she is young but she is tired
once full of zeal, now uninspired
her face is unfathomable
and her soul inpenetrable
am i her or is she me?
