Dear Pooh Bear,
I miss being with you in the Hundred Acre Woods,
the simplicity of pooh sticks,
visiting you after a long, exciting day,
and watching the stars float lazily past from the safety of your window.
If Heffalumps and Woozles are the scariest things we have to face,
I’ll hold your hand all through the night.
But when I hold you close,
remember that I need you there too.
Let’s return to the woods where “boy” and “girl” are replaced by just “you”,
where “I love you” can be said as just a friend,
where a hug has no significant, alternative meaning,
and where you don’t get harassed for playing with me.
I feel so safe in your house, surrounded by mountains of honey pots,
where getting that last lick of honey is more important than whether I like boys or girls,
where we march in pajamas with a cork gun to defend ourselves from nightmares,
and where we fall asleep listening to the rain.
I want to go back to the world where Eeyore is only “gloomy”,
not clinically depressed,
where Tigger is happy and energetic,
and hasn’t been labeled as ADHD.
Where did the time go when Rabbit was just my best friend
and I didn’t notice that he despised me?
Why don’t families love each other like Kanga and Roo,
and why doesn’t everyone grow up to be wise and old like Owl?
I want to return to that place deep in the Hundred Acre Wood,
where all of us used to play,
to find the enchanted neighborhood
of my dreams that have faded away.