Freedom is a Pink Peach

No one told me how to be a person until it was too late. Until I was already rosy pink with embarrassment at my own chosen foolishness. To go my own way has been a strong-willed passion of mine since the beginning. And I don't think my story is unique. Everyone wants the sky to be blue, when really it's pink. Pink, turning orange, turning apocalyptic red. To sing now becomes slavery and all I'm really looking for is the center, the stone, the pinkest peach pit in the middle of the sky to fix my eyes on. I need a hook, an anchor, a timeline for my feet. There has never been enough time to find this, until now.