Sliding, sliding, sliding down the yellow slide

Back to when I was only five

Back to the sandbox, wooden swing set and towers so high.

Moments fill my head when I was a kid, playing imaginary games with my brother.

Stick fights in the forest, tree climbing in our backyards, bike riding alongside the deserted road.

Discovering, adventuring, wandering but never afraid of getting lost.

But dammit I am not five anymore

I am eighteen!

Still longing for the yellow slide and sandboxes.

The days when life wasn't so complicated.

When the only struggle I had was switching from velcro to lace shoes.

Choosing white or chocolate milk.

Choosing which goddamn blue crayon I wanted to color the sky and then accidentally picking indigo

because it looks like a nice sky color but no, it's fucking purple.

Fuck indigo.

I want to go back, I want to go back, I want to go back!

Clicking my heels, whispering "There's no place like home, there's no place like home"

But dammit, these are not ruby slippers.

They are black and they have laces and I'm tired of tripping over them.

I'm tired of falling because there is no one here to kiss my bruised hands and scraped knees

and tell me it will be okay.

Someone tell me it will be okay!

These bruises and scrapes have made their way into my mind and heart and you just can't put a

Sesame Street band-aid on your head and chest and hope for the best.

Yellow slide, yellow slide.

How much I miss the yellow slide. How much I miss the days of not being afraid to be lost.

To fall down and be okay enough to get back up.