Childhood is make-believe and Barney.
It's "Mommy, I'm a super hero!" and "Abby no like bugs!"
Mine is broken and all about pretending to be,
anyone but me.
It's four parents, two houses, and one self.
Loving unconditionally and overlooking faults,
Sharing and caring and I was unafraid to be daring.
It's cement foundations, scraped knees, and hearts with many abrasions.

Growing up is no sleep and scrawling pen on paper,
Too deep thoughts and I'm not enough.
Midnight meals, late-night talks, and up-all-night thoughts.
Obscure hints to real points I'd rather not handle,
"I'm okay" when I just want to cry.
Boys who don't care and God's always there,
Laughing and crying and singing and flying,
Ironclad walls and festering wounds,
Shut-off thoughts while fear always looms.
Hiding under my covers, I still believe that there no monsters can get me.
12:41 a.m. and a vicious thunderstorm is beautiful,
Therapeutic healing in the pitter-patter of the rain.
Intense diatribes coupled with "remember, I love you," well yeah but it stings just the same.
So many things that slip my mind, pre-early onset Alzheimer's?
Me growing up is worries an flurries of emotions that run ever higher,
It's untimely breakdowns and MAYBE IF I TURN THE VOLUME UP HIGHER THE MUSIC WILL DROWN OUT THE WORLD.