As a child, I had an imagination bigger than a skyscraper
It was accepted when I talked to the people who only existed to this miniature version of myself, running and jumping with imaginary friends
But that was short lived, even though it was life to me at one point in time
I got older
And I know i'm still young, but not as young as those imaginary friend days
I miss them, they never judged me or called me names
They never pushed or shoved me out of anger
They never dismissed my sadness
I miss them, but if I go visit will they call me crazy?
Will they look down on me, even though life for them at one point in time was imaginary friends?
Now I must only ponder on these times as bad memories
I must make fun of that dumb miniature version of me
Because imaginary friends are no longer accepted
I'm crazy for wanting an imagination
I must become boring
I must stay in line and fulfill my duty, and trick myself into the idiotic thought that
"It will all be worth it"
YOU ARE READING
The Ballads of a Manic Teen in a Conformed Society
PoetrySometimes my thoughts start going faster than I can keep up with, so I write a poem when i'm manic in the hope that someone will read it and feel a little bit better about themselves. Or maybe I write in order for me to feel better about myself, or...
