I grew up with a girl,

Who had a story trapped inside,

And it wanted to escape,

But she stopped it every time it tried.


She didn’t think the world was ready,

For the story that she never let go,

And people couldn’t argue,

Because they didn’t know.


They only saw a girl,

Who some thought was pretty,

But they never guessed about,

A trapped inner story.


When she grew to be a teenager,

She tried to let it free,

But it stayed stuck in the cage,

All sad and weighty.


She had grown so used to,

Hiding it away,

That when she tried to release it,

It only knew how to stay.


The storyline became twisted,

Up inside her head,

“I wish I had let it free,”

The girl I grew up with said.


It didn’t rattle at the bars,

Like it used to when she was younger,

“Let it go free,”

I wish someone had told her.


So she became thin and pale,

With a story she’d never shared,

Because she didn’t think the world was ready,

Or that it even cared.


She tried to grasp daydreams,

But they just slipped away,

Because how can you believe in something,

When it is faded and grey?


All her dreams didn’t matter,

Because the best one was inside,

But she couldn’t let it out,

So she curled up and cried.


The world would never be ready,

For the story that she could tell,

“I flew to freedom,

But then I fell.”


And so maybe that is why,

In all her doubts and fears,

She finally found a way,

To let it out after so many years.


It flew to freedom,

From its cage inside her,

And after a little while,

It was put down on paper.


And the little girl I grew up with,

Is long gone today,

Because instead she grew into a woman,

Who released her story after finding a way.









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