I watch with sadness as people protect their emotions from me;
My passion doesn't mean that, from moral boundaries, I'm free.
I will no longer be held responsible for the temptations of others;
This burden has been carried too long by the generations of our mothers.
We all need celebration because we're all children under our skins.
When we accept that adults must be passionless, depression settles in.
Most children naturally celebrate each moment and every new sensation;
It is our own fear of losing control that puts an end to their elation.
Once something is accepted in our heads, how do we make our hearts go along?
Do we simply accept on faith that we will, one day, sing joyful songs?
Do we have a responsibility to actively seek joy in our lives;
Or is martyrdom of spirit what it takes for our souls to survive?
I have no issue with suffering when one is working toward a goal,
But turning triumph into tragedy seems to make many feel whole.
They wear their pain like purple hearts for everyone to see,
And to inflict their pain on others seems to fill their hearts with glee.
Why do we focus so much time worshiping the sad martyrs,
When we should be rejoicing as Creation's sons and daughters?
All passion can be productive; but we've turned passion into pain and fear.
Being made ashamed to show even love to those we hold most dear.
If you want to know my boundaries, ask what I've learned in my eventful life.
Don't assume that because I laugh, it has been free from strife.
But very few want to hear of the wisdom I have gathered,
So living with less people has become the life route which I rather.