Calm demeanor

Grass is greener 
She drives down the road
Not a soul will see her
QuikTrip, Speedway, Buccees
Hick drip feed eight duckies 
Little her wonders who always knew
Her crayon was red when the sky was blue 
Where she goes has rarely been her decision 
She must practice control of her ignition 

Mind starts racing as she watches the road
Grieving a victory that will never be told
She met so many teachers who said she was smart
Reinforced perfectionism that tore her apart
Planted their eager encouragement in her left ear
Unaware she would wait for the right deadline to near 
Eventually tardiness would outweigh perseverance 
Her reputation ruined by a lack of adherence
Cascades of tears release in a torrential 
Knowing she’ll never be her full potential 
Three decades of professionals dressed in pearls
Never saw the problem hiding under her curls
 
She rocks her loud leggings with a stubborn pride
The box is begging for her to step inside 
She faces her ego in her pocket 
Replaces torpedo for model rocket 
Braving brain chemistry that fires at will
It’s a tool, not a crutch, taking this pill
The song playing in her head softly pauses
Little deaths in breaths of natural causes
The rearview mirror tempts her to take peeks
The past is clearer in the looks she sneaks
Somewhere there is a young woman failing 
Hurrying to her class, anxious and flailing 
She knows that will always be part of her story
A gifted child falling short of grown up glory
The truth is she never had a clear path
Traversing these trails without hand or map
 
She reaches her destination and opens the car
She steps out in the valley and lowers the bar
Walks as she forgives herself for all of the times 
She fumbled her feelings with tight collared crimes
She climbs the mountain – pain echoes in her voice
Heavy rock – she’s shocked by her strength to hoist
Show off your superpower, public asserts
Her lungs expand with the effort she exerts
Sunshine is striking reflected in blue eyes
Encouraging her effort toward new highs
Peak is right there yet her path is always blocked
That familiar gun is aimed, loaded and locked
But this time she stops, leaves it in the night stand
Maybe this is the pattern she’s meant to backhand
She breathes in fresh air as she stares down below
Her tangled thoughts unravel peacefully slow
The voice in her head gives permission to rest
This time she will be the one writing the test 
Her smile widens as she soon realizes 
Freedom is born taking off disguises