When I was younger I used to hide under my bed
As if it were a roof
Protecting me from problems disguised as rain
It was the only place my tears could flow safely
Out of sight
It helped block the sound of my feuding parents screaming:
"YOU'RE NEVER RIGHT!"
When I was younger I used to hide under my bed
I would imagine the cracks in my floor pushing flower buds through them
The sun being caught
as it shone onto the floor board beside me.
And it's light hardening into a
Crisp,
Flaky,
Gold
That I would be able to peel off with the simplicity of a fingernail.
When I was younger I used to hide under my bed
And smug between the boards off the bed frame and the mattress I would hide
My razor drenched in blood.
And the screaming would continue
And I would become aware that my imagination could never logically come alive
So I would squish my fingers between the bars
To grab my mighty prize
Of finding reality
The great realization we all look for
As a child.