When I was younger my imagination ran wild.
It played freely by cliffs,
not knowing what was on the other side,
but not fearing what it would find.

One day it got too close to the steep, rocky cliff edge
and took a long look down to see what lived on the unknown side.
After that glance it never played the same.

Fear fogged over my brain
and raindrops full of anxiety and terror
created storms that would drench my thoughts for years.
My mother would tuck me tightly in a cocoon of blankets
after a long day of tag and chase,
and my eyes would feel so heavy,
they would quickly seal shut.

I hoped to dream about princesses and ice cream,
but my small head would fill with robbers and bandits
squeezing their way through unsealed air pockets
that uneasily float next to the worn out basement doors.

Before I closed my eyes,
I used to think of all the ways I could escape these bandits
if they pried open my rusty window lock later that night.
Personal fire ladders,
windows unlocked,
wait locked,
without the ladder how will my scrawny, shaking body,
only 50 pounds,
plunder down,
out the window onto the grassy side yard? ?
Away from the robbers and bandits,
with their gangly arms stretching out
with the hopes of snatching my spout of thin brown locks
that whips violently behind my head,
smacking their long, pointy fingers until they slowly retract.

It all felt so real,
so terrible,
so unfair.
“Why me?” I would quietly stammer out,
As my mom held me tight
as my tears continued to drip down.
Her worried eyes traced my face
as she tried to figure out why her six year old baby girl
was caught up in an imaginary world
so full of darkness and dread.

I began to think my imagination was the bad guy
coming to snatch me away,
away from my family and friends,
away from my lavender room
where flowers danced gracefully across the ceiling
and stuffed animals guarded the door.

“Maybe light would help to scare the robbers away?”
I proudly suggested to my worried mother.

The next day a bag full of sparkly night lights sat overflowing on our worn out kitchen table,
one for every outlet.
Courtesy of my personal wonder woman.
I held tightly onto her flowing cape, letting it guide my mind up to the sky.
Getting me close enough
to see the stars glisten and shine;
capturing my fears in their lights. 

The shadowy corners of my room were replaced
with twinkling lights that cast beautiful pictures across my ceiling,
made out of the shadows that used to creep quietly in the corners.

But the beauty did not deter monsters from embedding themselves permanently in the shadowy crevices of my wandering imagination.
I didn’t want to dream,
even about princesses and ice cream.
For all I knew the princess could turn into a pirate
and use the point of the ice cream cone as a sword.

Gashes filled with distress scattered across my wartorn body.
Threads of courage stitched gashes and healed prideless wounds
Only scars remain.

but I have become a soldier,
with a sword sewn to my palms
and a shiny metal vest protecting my heart. 

I am 17 and my imagination runs wild.
It plays freely by cliffs, knowing that below
monsters lurk in the shadows
and bandits hunt to steal hearts. 

But now I am brave enough
to face my fear of the shadows and heights.
I want to fly over the edge
and look down upon the robbers and bandits,
spreading my wings wide,
creating my own shadows
as I glide freely around in the pastel colored sky.

I paint my own picture using the dark, sparkling light.

This is where the monsters are too afraid to hide.