Forgetting The Impossible
Poetry By, J. M. Lilin
Once I was five and I grew up on adventures in the backyard, believing in the impossible.
Another time, long ago, I was ten, and I had friends at the playground who dared me to what seemed complex.
If only I knew what fifteen meant to me, when I started to discover myself and grow to a new human being, no longer just a child.
The emotions of a human, now belonging to me, growing up to be a young woman.
Was it unusual that I had still not seemed to grow out of that phrase of daydreaming?
Why was it that I couldn’t forget those unnecessary thoughts of a person floating in the clouds in bliss?
Or those fantasies of an imaginary friend on the hill of dandelions, above the city of carousels.
Maybe I could at least forget the impossible boy who controlled the electricity of the sky?
I cannot forget!
I will not forget!
I have grown up past the teenage years and now I am starting to panic.
Why are these impossible things bouncing around my head like a machine of gumballs?
Can I please just focus on the task at hand, the task that will determine my future.
Oh, but my future. Why can my future not be like the heroes in the books?
Even if I could not be a hero, the journey of a villain could be eccentrically curious.
I want to have the capabilities of mind reading and the creativity of twisting time.
I want to kiss the lips of kindness in a sunset of fantasy romance.
I want to read out loud and bring to life the wonders of ink under both starlight and shadows.
I want to have abilities in my hand and feathers on my back like a mistress of magic.
Creation and imagination drive an unsigned writer inside the attic of my mind.
Oh, those thoughts never end.
I cry with laughter and I cry out with the joy of such wonderous things.
I need to share this life with others.
I need to spread it like a wildfire of flowers.
Inspiration is the creation of motivation and there is only one thing that can bring it all together.
Yes, the wonder. Oh, the beauty. Loving the dreams that come in the day. Three a.m. thoughts that reject sleep.
I am starting a rebellion against growing up.
Join me in this beautiful harmony of words.
A melody of midnight stars that belong to our poetic souls.
I will never grow up!
I enjoy these daydreams far too much and nothing could make me forget these impossible things.
Forgetting the impossible is for the weak; forgetting is for the ones that are against what they once believed in.
I will remember what matters – I will keep the child inside me at heart.
I will never forget the impossible.
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