A Golden Childhood

I existed as a precocious young girl who lived only in the context of her own mind. 

I pranced over to the neighbor’s yard to gather rose petals for the fairies’ dresses,

and I talked to my imaginary friend while I sat at the base of a tree trunk.

I dug my nails into branches, trying to carve my initials

even though it left more of a mark on my hands than anything else.

And that’s the thing about being a child-

you become scraped and scratched by the world until you learn to fear it.

I am twice the age I was when I wished for adulthood on every dandelion and brightest star,

on every birthday candle and four leaf clover.

How silly I was to think that any time is better than the one where I was still unaffected by the whims of other people’s opinions.

But at least I was still wishing. 

I think as you grow older, you perhaps lose that still small light that believes that a prince on a white horse will come and save you.

Now I don’t see princes as dreams. 

I see them as dangers. 

What was Taylor Swift thinking, giving me silly hope like that?

Because naive is a word synonymous with innocence, the precocious girl was told that she needed to grow up to survive.

But maybe becoming an adult isn’t about forgetting childhood and the golden light it brought-

But learning how to give new nurturement to the girl who still lives.