I grew tired of always being the sweet little girl

On ruffled skirts and leg-of-mutton satin shirts.

I’m tired of my good old-fashioned manners;

of always having to pronounce my “r’s and “t’s”.

And I don’t want to pull up my hair anymore.

Instead I’ll just let it dance with the wind

- the entangled mess it has become.

I would climb up a mountain if I could.

I would dance and spin and sing,

Till I would fall down and sleep

With nothing but pure skies above me.