I remember well my first day of preschool
When the teacher taught us the Golden Rule
And how we were all God’s little caterpillars.
I remember the love I bore my stuffed horse
And how tightly I hugged my stuffed dog with great force;
I would be the world’s best zookeeper.
I remember my parents’ copious gifts of books,
How they were more important than my friends’ good looks;
Their stories still represent my dear childhood.
I remember the first time I discovered music of my own
Through a 90s band CD I had as a loan.
I danced with my headphones like a dryad.
I know the exact date I noticed at last
How much of my life friends had seemingly surpassed
And I vowed that I could never again be happy.
The stories were never again a fully open door,
More like a ditch dug out in the floor
Behind which I could hide my face forever.
One day, songs became a desperate race
To see who could sing and play bass,
So I’ve dropped out like a sixteen-year-old kid.
Now, lying under the stars thinking of this and that
I actually cower from the once-beloved animals like cats
Because they have uncomfortable interest in worms.
I was better off a caterpillar.