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Poem: Childhood

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Our beds are stacked together

Each at their own height

Each with their own color

Purple, Pink, Blue

They fit together,

But they are not the same.

The walls are green, but not the whole way

Giving the impression of hills in the distance.

A place, that can be anything,

A world of our making

A city with two squares

And a village of infinite joy

A mansion of Barbies hiding from witches

Or a desolate planet where we save those we can.

Home is not where the heart is

It is where the three hearts can be together

And play Anna Farmer, or American Girl,

Or Stuffed Superheroes, or Craig Rescues

It is where we escape to worlds which only exist

Finitely, like everything

But infinitely more beautiful than any flicker

We could’ve made on our own.

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