Thirty

On a dark night my daddy said to me that I would have to attach myself to something real:
The happiness of a bald eagle.
The witch hunt for long lost prepubescent zeal
Running through the woods naked laughing before welling up with the sheer glee
Of beautiful escapism.
Of soaring beyond anyones comprehension
Above their total disbelief at who came out of the chrysalis.
Even I was shocked.
Finally no more unwanted regression in each elementary subsection.
The aggression diminished serving its raw purpose of confession.
I have repented.
I have served out my sentence.
So all that’s left for them is to read and try to understand
The hidden meaning in this pansexual magicians hands.