Young Enough

These words come out of my pen and I remember when I was young enough to believe that the world just might stop turning the stars just might start falling if I could just capture this feeling on this cold, white page. When I was young enough to believe that I could make a happy ending to this tale if I wrote about it the right number of times that everyone was interested in a young girl's heartsick rhymes when I was young enough to believe that magic really existed and that life was more than some sick rat's maze without any cheese at the end. These words come out of my pen and I try to comprehend just how I got this grown-up how I ever got to meet my pals cynicism and jaded laughter. For that young girl of hardly more than one year's worth of long ago doesn't live here anymore I've lost those bright-colored gel pens she used to write those hopeful dreamings she'll make an appearance with sunscreen and hot dogs but more often than not I can remember when and I can try to comprehend but these words that come out of my pen aren't even a residual echo of when I was young enough to believe that my words really mattered.