Girl Meets World

 

 

       For as long as I can remember, I have been able to go to a magical place where all of my dreams come true. Long before I had a sister and a brother, I became very good at playing well alone. I have always had a vivid imagination, and the truth of the matter is, that was the beginning of my life as a writer, and continues even to this day. Whenever something was a little "off" in my world, I was able to sit and day-dream, and I even carried a little notebook with me so that I was able to write down my feelings on the matter. As I became older, my mom took note that whenever I would spend hours on the piano, I was hurting inside. Music also became my "magical world." I believe that writing and music go hand-in-hand, and that they both have a healing power. Words can heal, and they can also destroy. The same is with music...it can heal a broken heart or it can cause the anger that is built up inside, to implode into a disaster. The following is a poem about the magical world of writing and poetry and how they tie together.

 

 

I grew up where the sun shone through my yellow curtains

And made me feel like my life was brand-new

I'd stare out across the royal plushness of my backyard

And dream of places that existed beyond the green carpet

Places that could take you where great people once lived

I could hear the music whistling through the silky evergreens

I could close my eyes and smell the mustiness of the autumn leaves

Hear the fast-approaching trains that rumbled near my window

Rattling the antique glass and making me feel safe and sound

Music wafted through the vents with the toastiness of the warmth

Listening to hours of practice and beautiful melodies from my sister

I can smell the mouth-watering baking for the holidays

As I'd crack open a hard-backed book

Ready to meet a new person and become fast friends

Flashlights glowing under the bed-covers

Headphones worn to drown out the world around me

I could lay on my back against the smoothed concrete

Of the expansive white-washed gazebo

And listen to the birds sing their many melodies

From the wooded trails not far from my being

I could harmonize completely with my family

Relishing the fact that our voices blended as one

And knowing that that moment would but vanish

From my out-stretched grasp....

Oh, I can always leave my current work-filled day

And travel back in time, to meet  many beautiful, old friends

Acquaint myself with new ones and never see their faces with my eyes

For to imagine is the best skill a writer can possess

To see the world from up above, looking down

Hovering over them like an angel of light

They make their way through the looking glass and into your pen

Singing the songs, whether good or bad

And creating a memory that was once upon a time....