62 of them have left their mark on my face and body
No more the curly haired little blonde girl who discovered
the meaning of life in 1964.
But it was a life that my "Beaver Cleaver" world disapproved of.
My music was noise,
My ideas; unacceptable to the "Cleavers".
I was a caterpiller whose cocoon was opening,
as the "Cleaver's" were desperately trying to
push my butterfly back in.
They succeeded in clipping my wings back;
but couldn't stop them from rowing--slowly.
But for those "formative years"
I stayed by myself, alone, private,
absorbing the world around me like
a sponge; listening; until finally that
one person said, "The sun is out, the sky is blue,
it's beautiful, and so are you......why don't you come out
and play"?
And his name was John.
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