I’m not sure, that I’ll ever write the same, as when I was small.
Messy and carefree scribbles and dots that mean some big adventure.
My recollection of glue,
and trying to cut straight lines, colour inside the lines.
When everything was a quaint achievement.
Everything was a gold star.
Now I string my words in technicalities.
I try to piece together poems with words I’d never use,
because I fear I’m too simple.
And so simply-minded that no one will take me serious.
I want my creations to create others, in synchronisation.
because it used to be like that when I was young.
Being wasn’t a chore, but imagination was never lacking.
I constantly found myself in other places.
castles, and islands in the sky, fighting pirates and dragons.
Now we cite our sources.
Now we need big words to feel mighty.
Now I need shiny achievements, not tiny golden stars.
One day we’ll all retrace our footsteps.
One day we’ll be simple again.