I will always remember my preschool teacher
Telling me...
*A little bit goes a long way

Click
The room brightens
Twist
I can see better
Push
The monsters in the closet are gone
Turn
I can relax now

The dark is light
With a button or ****
Changing my whole perspective
Of the room

I always wish
That hand-writing
A letter
Didn’t go out of style.

I miss the excitement
Of getting something in the mail.
Opening a hand addressed envelope
And reading the words sent to me.

But now
All I get in the mail
Is bills and unwanted
Or needed, advertisements.

I look out the window
As the world
Whizzes by

I sit there
And create this poem in my mind
Miles away from the earth

Me with my head in the clouds
Constant ideas and constant dreams
Being born in my head

I used to try to write those ideas
And express them in a story
With my own characters

That was before I discovered poetry
Now I have no need
For all the uncompleted stories I have made

I'm addicted
To ice cream

My pink mechanical pencil
Is sitting right beside my computer

The brand and lead size
is worn off, from all the use

The eraser has been changed
Countless times

There is graphite dust
in a few places in the grip

My other pencil
the same but purple

Lost its clip
I wiggled my pencil too much

Which is why the purple one
Is out of order

When I'm bored
or anxious

I'll pick up my pencil
Spin it, wiggle it, open and close it

Take apart
and put back together

Anything that can be done to my pencil
Will be done

Thanks to my constant need
for motion

Magical is a word.