Six years old standing in front of the casket
Tears flooding my eyes and I look at my mom's closed ones
The floor seemed to fall away
Gravity pulling me into the pit inside the Earth
Nothing seemed to stay upright
Kinda like Alice falling down the rabbit hole

That's where I was
But this Wonderland was not fun nor filled with bright colors
This was dark and dank
With nowhere to run
A peircing noise filling the air
A heart stopping kind of noise
Like a flatline of a heart moniter 

Growing older in this world you learn to adapt
Or go mad

I would pick up my pencil 
And write three things that we used to do
But something would always cloud my memories
Like a puff of smoke being blown in my face

Writing was my savior 
My pen my sword
With it I would do some impossible things

Glancing at the looking glass I would see my oldself
Smiling that big, wide smile
Eyes lit with wonder and curiosity
Some times I would see her

Times like that I would get my pen
Tweedle my two thumbs
Slip on my hat
And let my brain fall into a new world
Full of wonder


This poem is about: 
My family


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