I Get Called Childish Often ~by Jaye L. J. Clydesdale

It’s a defining trait.

I remember once I strived to be miserable, I never let things interest me and I never longed for joy. The shining stars never reflected in my eyes and everytime a songbird sang I would cover my ears, not wanting to be infected by happiness. It was existence without purpose.

I was a lifeless puppet dancing for a loveless master preforming the bare minimum of what was expected of me. My mind was blank, hallow and not my own. I had unwillingly signed over the deepest recesses of my once oh-so colourful soul, and with that I felt all the joy leaving my body.

I refuse to be that person today. When you look into my eyes you will no longer see a treacherous waste land decorated horrifically with decaying skeletons of forgotten dreams and lost hopes, today you will look into my eyes and see a galaxy far away each star that shines is a new hope, a new dream or a new ambition.

When you see me talking to a bumblebee or picking colourful flowers never forget there was a time the bee and the cockroach were no different to me and bluebells and poison ivy were synonymous, I remember seeing everything as I was. Miserable. I quickly grew tired of it.

But what they never tell you, once you look towards darkness, once you lay a finger on it, it engulfs you fully, the light is nowhere to be found and the void seems to have no end.

I fought against the dark valiantly and turned my back forcefully. My screams of terror became a song of triumph. My hunched slow march practically turned into a dance. My attire once heavy and dark is now light and in full colour. My mind once blank is now a full canvass of yet unfinished paintings, that I have all the time in the world to complete.

Now there is wonder in everything I do, everywhere I go fairy bells ring in my mind and there is an unmistakable glow in my new smile. My new energy gives people joy instead of draining their light, the way mine was.

The moral? The message? The meaning of this parable?

I’d rather be childish and cheerful, than mature but miserable.

Want to try your hand at poetry? Email me at poeticiapoems@gmail.com

Featured image credits to digaita from Pixabay

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