Backgrounds & Crayons

Like a still-frame,

My wings go unnoticed, uncharted —lost in the weight of attention from focal point versus blurs of a candid existence.

Daddy’s little girl is waving off in a fit of a goodbye. But Daddy has never resonated with the checkpoints of where his daughter exceeds: he’s stuck on square one and God knows there’s no get out of jail card for this one.

My person no longer fits within the walls of this nostalgic house. My limbs drape the side panels that are overgrown with memories of familiarity. My neck is ached and contorted by the limits of my remaining days of my childhood, now peeking towards the newly crafted reality that lies beyond the shore of the horizon. 

Dolls are replaced with books and responsibilities of societal expectations. I pack my bags with a spell of regret for: not entirely being present for the breeze of those eventful and vivid Sophomore experiences, not chasing my dreams and succumbing to the daily tasks of monotonously surviving, not holding on tighter to the epoxy of my personal sanity and releasing my grip on those I should hold tighter. 

A pit fills the center of an ideal and peachy life — but what good stems from a malfunctioned fruition that is watered down by the scare of change?

I’m worried that Uncertainty will clip my shaggy wings that flutter through the air streams of nightmares. 

Fear is a monster that has been lurking underneath my bed since I was little; my mother’s brave heart, bandaged with golden silk, has fought off and discouraged Fear and his intimidating demeanor. 

Now it’s my turn to slay what lies beneath and my blade fervently shakes the closer I draw. Except it falls when I see myself, ten years younger, being coddled in the nest of Fear’s arms. 

Why did the journey of melted crayons and care-freeness of youth, leave me fearless as a child but turned the other way when my limbs began to grow?