do you remember when you were young
and someone asked you what you wanted
to be when you grew up and you proudly
responded that your fate was predetermined:
you knew you were destined for greatness

you believed that you could save the world,
simply because you figured out that crayons
are made of wax and wax melts when
it's hot
and you can mold it into whatever
you'd like:
you'd always end up with a mess of
rainbows
and innocence on your fingertips, a perfect
representation of your colorful heart

do you remember when you were young
and you whispered secrets into your best friend's ear
instead of burying them in the box beneath
the books and blades that taught you
everything you know

and when the little boy in the torn down
tee shirt and slacks
asked you to come outside, you slipped on
a pair of pants
underneath your dress before you rushed downstairs
and hopped on a brand new bike, never
worrying that
you had no helmet because besides
scraped knees proved you were a warrior

and when the little boy told you that
you're beautiful,
you responded “I know,” instead of
accusing him of lying
and when he told you he was leaving,
you made
him promise to come back and visit –
and you were
never disappointed when he didn't

do you remember when you were young
and Mum asked you what was wrong and you always
had an answer and she always had a solution
and wasn't it reassuring to think that
everything has an easy fix?

but the days of fingerpainting and chalk drawings
have long gone by, and now you sleep
with a box of tissues and prozac,
believing more in a bottle of gin than
in yourself,
clinging to the bits and pieces of whatever
pride you have left, hanging on by a single
thread – secretly hoping it'll come loose,
breathing in all forms of escape like air,
never truly free but free to try to be