I'm so sorry
that I wrecked your car
trying to find
where the wild things are

I'm so disappointed
that my closet has a back
instead of Narnia
just some cold weather tack

I'm so hurt
that Middle Earth can't be explored
and the rolling hills
don't have little round doors

I'm so stricken
with the painful ail
that my reality
can't be my fairytale

Why is it
that someone else
got to decide this for me
instead of myself?