This a poem I made© about the new joys of puberty and maturity. =B
A trade of begginers,
start to refine my cords.
Sterilizing my veins, and
cleansing my pores.
Leaving no trace of infection,
guarding my body of protection.
Gaining my trust,
taking my blood,
all with these tools.
Creeping into my skin,
nailing together my gums,
beggining the new process,
where maturity comes.
Slithering upwards,
move me out,
tainting my soul,
a butterfly just about.
Whispering of a secret,
telling of a truth,
letting me wonder,
just what will it do?
These tools work well,
carving my old corpse.
Renewing me entire,
an adult which I desire.
Subject: The Tools 
Thu Mar 22, 2007 3:43 pm
