The characters from the stories of my childhood I could relate to as a child but now It is not as easy.
I mean I'm sure we can all relate to the characters in the sense that we are missing something that we want back or that we want in general.
Whether it be a wealth or happiness or in most cases a Prince Charming.
They wanted things they didn't have but they didn't know how great it would be to enjoy not having it.
Had they not known what they were missing do you still think they would be missing it?
The little mermaid wanted legs to run and jump and dance
I could understand that.
I mean If I were a mermaid I would give up my fins and voice for that.
But now I'm not as sure.
Because now I find comfort at the bottom of the swimming pool.
No people to force conversations with
No weight on my shoulders
I don't have to think about anything but trying not to drown.
The tin man wanted a heart and the scarecrow, a brain
I could relate.
If I was missing something like that I would want to be just like everyone else
But if the scarecrow knew how many nights he would be kept awake by terrifying thoughts that refuse to leave his head he would ask the wizard to take it back
that he would rather forget small things than remember those terrible images that he just can't unsee.
And if the tin man knew how bad it would hurt to have that heart he so desperately wanted broken he would wish for the empty steel chasm back in a...
Dorothy wanted to go home to Kansas
I understood that.
My biggest fear was getting lost or taken by a stranger so much so that I watched stranger danger videos on repeat.
All she wanted was to get back to Kansas.
To a place she wasn't positive was still standing.
I no longer understand that.
Home to me is not 4 walls and a foundation because that can be ripped away by tornados and there
aren't enough storm shelters big enough to protect me from the damage that would do to me.
there won't be a wizard to give it back to me by clicking my heels together.
I realize now that home will forever be the warm embrace in my mother's arms
Home Is the smell of my father's hugs; cologne with the undertone of sweat from the long days he spent tirelessly providing for our family.
Home is my mothers laugh and the sound of my father's heartbeat as I lay my head on his chest to sleep as I have since the day I was born.
Home is the constant noise of 3 brothers
And the smell of my mother's meatloaf.
Home is not 4 walls and a foundation
Home is 6 people and the foundation my parents laid for my brothers and I in the form of morals, manners, and respect.
Home is not a place for me but a feeling.
I learned from Dorothy to not get attached to physical places and label them home, because they can be ripped away from you
And once your home, whatever or wherever it may be, has been ripped away from you what else do you really have left?
so I made my home inside because no one can take that away from me.
The characters from the stories of my childhood taught me lessons no one else could have and to this day I envy the Ignorance of the characters before they knew what they didn't have.
But in the end it's all the same.
I must come up for air eventually and resume the weight on my shoulders and the useless conversations.
I am grateful to have a heart because although it does hurt when it breaks it's almost worth it every time my heart swells with love for my friends and family.
And my brain although beaten and battered by trauma, has held onto the bad days as well as the greatest memories.
Of my mother and father and brothers.
Of my family.
Of my home.
So I will take the pain and the knowledge of what it could be like if it means that I get to keep my home.
Because in the end I'm not a character in a story.
my life is not a fairytale
And I am okay with that.