I feel like sharing an old one.
March 7, 2009 | Category: writing
I love reading old little ditties I’ve written, especially when I remember exactly what I was writing it for. I wrote this one when I just needed to escape for a moment into make believe. What I love more than anything is reading something that I’ve written and then realizing that I got through what seemed to be be impossible at the time. Enjoy.
Headstrong
I know you’re real, but I’m gonna stay in make believe with the tiny toes hopping on the ceiling and the bantam fingers balancing on the flying red carpet.
Because it hurts when you walk away, but here in my head where I pretend,
you’re coming back tomorrow.
Mr. Gingerbread alarm clock excites me with a kiss at 6 a.m.
Ms. Tiny toes leaps from the ceiling springing me from my cloud in just enough time to catch you.
With the stub on the end of my hand, I grab your curl and lasso you back to the clouds.
You flip and hop and bump, and finally land after cupid’s arrow strikes your heart.
Smelling the daisies, you look up and confess your love sending a million kisses floating through the air.
There is a battle I have to fight in my head to get to you.
She’s lurking in the corner, begging cupid to join her.
Goldilox creeps to the bottom of our cloud and you feel a breeze enter your heart.
A bionic ray crashes the remote and throws the screen into a rewind.
My jealousy is erupting and I think of ways to crush her.
I want you for only me, and my obsession is just big enough to make sure that happens.
The pictures on the wall prove that you are mine.
The stories I tell prove you are mine.
Cupid says so.
Descending from the clouds to my bed I sob.
I’m looking for Mr. Ginberbread, Ms. Tiny Toes, and Cupid.
They’re playing hide and seek, so I spring to my toes and run through the house peeking through every door.
A beautiful flash of yellow flashes across the window and I know it’s her.
Cupid launches his arrow and it hits you, but it’s not my arrow.
I know you’re real, but I’m gonna stay in make believe with the tiny toes hopping on the ceiling and the bantam fingers balancing on the flying red carpet.
Because it hurts when you walk away, but here in my head where I pretend,
You’re coming back tomorrow.
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