Not To Be Gone

a kiss of sweet rain slips onto my face like a mask
covering my identity and slicking back my hair

In this place I can be anyone
anywhere
I am a girl on the verge of becoming a woman
with nowhere to turn
and no one to trust
I am a boy kissed for the first time
then left in the dust, lips still puckered
never to have trust in love again
I am an uncertain bird
free from its cage for the first time
not wanting to be caught out of this bittersweet world and put back in
I am a baby
new to this world
not knowing whom to place reliance on
forced to believe in everyone

I am sweet and innocent
but plagued by the problems this life has to offer
I can dream when I am here.
I am alone
My face falls into transparent pieces
mixing with the rain to shatter the surface of the troubled pond
I scream with the wind
unsettling the poor trees
and frightening the dying grass
A roar rips from my throat
and my eyes shimmer and gleam with tears in the dim golden light from my candle
These woods reek of the hardships of winter
As i hide in my unprejudice sanctum
I think of the city
The place is always consumed by light
never sleeping
It always cowers from the shadows
pretends they arnt there
as if afraid that the darkness will devour their precious light
and drown them in the realization of their secrets
but without the shadows
how are they to be grateful of the light?
They dont understand.
To be loud
you must have silence to compare it to.
Here I am in balance.

Dawn peeks over the trees of my forest
breaking into my peaceful set of mind.
The warm golden light contrasts with my misty blues.
I put on a sad, knowing smile.
I must leave my golden hide out for a more yellow world.
I put on a grin to hide my true feelings on the matter
and start down my dust path.
Hopefully a brighter day was ahead
but to join with it I had to be myself.
Not the girl, not the boy, not the bird, not the baby.
Me.
I was alone in my mind, but I was not alone.
I was surrounded by people that didnt care
They go about their busy lives
and when they arent busy
they act like they are.
Because who here honestly wants to admit youre not a somebody?
However much I wished to stay in my sanctuary,
I was headed back to this unbalanced world.
The hell I lived in was not ever to be a heaven
Utopia cannot be attained
because it can always be made better.
When people are living and dying everyday

Who am I?