My key

Mom always reminds me of the creative imagination I dawned as a kid

Her favorite memory, the time I dug to China

I can still taste the bitter gritty sand inbetween my teeth in my plight to the mystical asian land

Next to me is the dirt road I skinned my knees on weekly while running to the pond nearby

This is where the noble amphibius creatures I called my closest friends lived

I would send them on treaturous voyages on rafts made out of old building wood

I'd create homes for their families and sometimes we would just hang out in a tree because we could

Summers were packed, there was never enough time in the day

Nobody knew what I did at the pond, I just came home with red cheeks and in desperate need of a bath

But, my imagination was never something to understand

It was a place I visited to learn, to question reality, and to make the intangible tangible

While my love of frogs has never faded, I can no longer visit this etheral place by simply watching my slimey friends sail away

The older you get, the scarier the world becomes and your mind is tricked into a constant state of fear to let go

Where play pretend leaves, words replace

Creative writing gave me the key to that place I visited as a child

Poetry opened the door so I could step inside

I find poetry to be a language of it's own, a language of thoughts, none exactly alike

Poetry awakes, it ignites,

it creates a place in the mind to learn, to question reality, and to make the intangible tangible

Everyone has their key that opens the door to the side of life that is not visable to the naked eye

And as I think about humanity and its current state, I realize I am lucky to be one of the few to find my key


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