She’s on her hands and knees. Crying. Searching. Looking up at mommy. At daddy. At the nanny. At granny. She looks up at shiny things. She’ll try anything, but peas. She’s a good baby, a sweet little girl without a care in the world. Pink, chubby, rolling around. She’s the delight of every eye. What a good little girl.
She climbs up higher, so she can see. Grabbing onto everything. She’s moody. She’s mean. She’s trying to let go. To spread her wings. She flies, for a short while, but comes back to catch her breath. She let go of hands. The edge is tempting, but it’s so warm where it’s safe. No wind. No words. Her room. Music. Boys. Girls. The world; it’s crashing in and her door can’t keep it out. Get out! It’s loud. She crawls out the window. No more pink. What a good little, free girl.
She flies. Her mind is open. Her heart closed, guarded, but ready to burst. She’s a dreamer. A realist. A smoker. A drinker. A runner. She’s afraid, but brave. Go, girl. Nothing’s stopping her. She’s broke. Broken. Broken up. Her heart is a canvas. She paints. She writes. She reads. It’s constant creativity. Constant reinventing. She won’t sit still. There’s only certain things she believes. Her opinion is unwavering. She’s so sure. So strong. She knows everything. She climbs so high, she forgot what she wanted to see. What a good little, free, crazy girl.
She lands crashing down. Boxed in on all sides. She makes a perfect nothing. She’s not sure what she believes. Her opinion is wavering. She’s weak. The world has been unforgiving. Cruel. Unkind. She’s given up on dreams. She’s crawling, crying, trying to pull up to see. There’s nothing shiny. She remembers what it was like to fly. To paint. To write. To dream. She makes a promise and whispers a vow. The light comes in from the window. What a good, little, free, crazy, hopeful girl.
She’s doing a million things. Time is passing in warp speed. She’s crawling, climbing, flying and landing, over and over again. There’s pictures and parties. The promotion. Layoff. Laid up. At home. Too much time, but none at all. The days mix together. People get sick, they pass away. She reads to a little one on her chest. The phone rings. Everything costs money. The lights are always on. The music is loud. She’s worried. She’s happy. Her face is flushed with heat. What a good, little, free, crazy, hopeful, busy girl.
She’s tired and at times lonely. They come around when they can. They bring such energy. They’re busy. She prays. She gardens. She golfs. She cooks. She works. She cleans. She drives. When she walks, she thinks. She thanks God for all the beautiful things. So much joy. So much sadness. So much life. She’s out of time, but no one needs to know. She’s slowly letting go. She opens the window and lets the air in. The view is beautiful from where she stands. What a good, free, crazy, hopeful, busy, beautiful girl.
She's ready. She regrets nothing. She lived a dream. Now, she can fall asleep. What a good, little, free, crazy, hopeful, busy, beautiful, memory; that girl.