Dear seven year old,
Yes, there is a monster
But it’s not under your bed
The monster is in your head
But maybe it’s not even a monster
Maybe it’s just buried pain
Because they told you not to cry
Dear seven year old,
Yes, you should keep crying
Otherwise the tears will build up and flood your insides
The tears do not care for being stuck
They need to be released
Into the stars
Dear seven year old,
Yes, your plea for better times are being heard by the stars
They always will
Keep wishing on them
Wish on 11:11 too
Because to wish is to know what you want
And knowing what you want
Telling it
Makes it so much more likely to happen
Dear seven year old,
Yes, you still feel like the kid sitting under the slide and just observing life
And you’ve come to appreciate it
Observing, looking, watching p
Make all the difference
Almost as much as writing
Dear seven year old,
Write.