I’ve always acted like a five year old.
I’ll pout when things go wrong,
I’ll shy away when you begin to say
that something will take too long.
I’ll hide under my covers, up to my head
I’ll hide in the blankets of my soft bed.
I’ll hide from all of the monsters:
anxiety, depression too
I’ll hide away from those mean old things,
and instead I’ll think of you.
I’ll dream a dream, or I think I might
a closed-eye movie to pass the night.
I’ve never been a fan of the dark,
never a fan of fright.
I’ve always loved the day time,
rather than that of night,
until you came to feel my young head with beauty, love, and light.