When I was a little girl,
I would pray.
With my eyes wide open and my head tilted back in wonder,
Struggling to soak up every ounce of happiness and sunshine I could
Before the world inevitably,
In the park, on the clouds,
Taking refuge in my mother’s lap,
On my bed as I wished for the dreams,
I would pray to anyone I thought
To a god I then believed had to be out there,
To the carefully placed
Plucked out of the heavens
And glued to the ceilings of my imagination.
Imagination: (noun) a place that doesn’t exist where everything has the capacity to be “As You Wish”
Imagination: (verb) the act of creating such a place for yourself.
What it would take,
As I grew older and it grew harder to wish myself away,
What it would take,
To have such a place
House that doesn’t exist
Not where everything is how I want it to be, because that would be irrisistably
But where everything is quiet.
My prayers evolved,
Changing to fit my surroundings,
And my view on the world.
At its becoming as a bitter cry,
My voice wound its way through the violet mountains,
Lonely chords hit and missed
As the low, sweet melodies found their way
Into the valleys of my heart.
“Prepare me, to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true,”
Sanctuary: (noun) The cupboard under the stairs, where noise could not penetrate, a place where everything was built on the grounds of my
Myself in words
I built a home
A sanctuary for myself
Among the phrases of others
And eventually, among the tales I spun
Building for myself a world
Magic. Magic. Magic. Magic.
There were days when I sought refuge
From hailstorms of tantrums, screaming, and s...wordplay
Inside worlds of magic
Magic and promises of love
Good never succumbing to evil.
When Dumbledore said
“Help will always be given at hogwarts to those who ask for it,”
Well, Professor, I’m asking, so please
Show up on my doorstep
With your long purple robe and your
Silver buckled boots
And when J.K. Rowling promised me,
“Whether you come back by page or by the big screen,
Hogwarts will always be here to welcome you home.”
Huddled under my bed listening to the
Cacophony of misunderstood sounds leaking through the crack under my door
I dreaded the moment when I would have to return to the
But you and I , who are they to tell us what is
Delusions of Grandeur
Dance through our realities
But at least
You and me
We turn to books
Not mugs of self consciousness
And amber ale
Drowning our sorrows
In the words of our followers.
I used to pray to Hermione Granger,
And to Emma Watson
Because to me she embodied
The very being of the magical existence
I so badly
Wanted to be a part of.
And I prayed to Emma Granger, later,
When in my heart,
The magic she represented which I thrived on
And Magic. Magic.
Love, and theatre,
They became one and the same.
And I like reading in between the lines,
The emotions playing across the page
Like preschoolers playing with their words
Are too solid
To alive to ignore.
Love. Love. Love.
Love, noun, verb, adjective,
What is love? Magic.
I need love.
I need someone to trust,
Someone to hold me and to give me respite
From the harsh realities of the world.
And it’s a long class
And it’s been a long day
And I have a long life,
Ahead of me
And so I sit,
Wishing praying, not to a god I never believed in,
Not to mother, not to Emma Watson...
And I continue on, reading above, beyond, and between the lines.
“And it is one sick love story”
But God at least it feels real.
And no I’m not talking
“The fault in our Stars”
I’m speaking “Romeo and Juliet”
Because even if a lesson on
What not to do
I want it, God I want it,
Because I need somebody to love.
And someday I’ll find my own Romeo,
Or even my own Hazel Grace
To take me home and lay down
Beside me as we pray,
Counting the carefully placed
Paper and plastic stars
Plucked from the heavens
And scotch-taped to the ceilings
Of my imagination.