The moods that flit across my face
Are way too slow to match the pace
Of my tumbling streams of thought.
I've ideas, plans and then some more,
Dreams and stories in my store,
Whether or not I ought.
For some may say my childhood asks
That grins and giggles be my tasks
But I really don't agree.
My questions, tantrums, even whine,
Are threads that deftly intertwine,
To make me fully ME.