It seems like things change quicker than I can keep up. As soon as I get used to something it changes. I am not ready for this, I am not man enough for the changes that come. To climb back inside my mothers arms and have everything fixed for me. To be ignorant to the worlds troubles.

Reality denies the beauty we wish to see.
I press on looking for the truth.
In my hand I hold an artists brush,
I attempt to paint a world in which I might fit.
I world where love is real, and love is mine.
A place where I may be loved, accepted, family.
I draw on a canvas with all my creativity,
It ends ugly so I begin again, and again,
Again