As a child, daydreaming and imagination
means everything.
Where worlds are created
and stories write themselves.
The woods behind my house transformed into
fortresses.
Dress up clothes full of mildew and holes, became
elegant dresses and suits of gleaming armor.
Always remembering the innocence-

But now I am grown and born again,
into reality.
Where there is only one world and the story
stays the same.
Struggling to meet every expectation
thrown at me.
Stripped of childhood fantasies
I focus on priorities that bring stress and pain.
Never forgiving the corrupters-

Some say that at 18 you are no longer a child.
That moving on is a part of life-
a realization that your pretend world has ended.
But for me I dwell in the past,
trying to hold on to the happy carefree memories
of the child that still lives in me.