The Girl With Her Heart On Her Sleeve

8 years, not withstanding, humming along with the tides of change,
Restless still and yet a pull from a cord attached at my navel into direction unforseen.
Bothered by sudden red colors, drawn to cool blue attractions, and longings,
For tempered hues of stoic resolve.

Stumbling, drunken and blinded by self-grandiose, it hurts less to dally in shadows,
Rather than fearlessly take possession of the generated light from within and radiated.
Water welled eyes get no sympathy, and no amount of pure intention is
Enough to calm foiling needs.

Hard up, hard down, nothing sets my heart to full distress than deep thoughts of failure,
To be vulnerable, and open to attack, unarmed and tempted to flee sight unseen.
Pure intention is not enough, foiling, an no color can keep these veins,
Clear for no sympathy remains.