When I glance at wooden crates

  I think of rocking horses where the children would cradle their worries away.

  When I see scraps of cardboard

  I think of forts and collages wiped from the face of the Earth.

  When, I blitz past a mall

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I think of children who laugh, so joyous, whilst playing ball.

  When I look to the sky, I see kites of all sizes, each a magnificent shade that pops and screams to the eye that I have a drive, a will, and a dream.

  And when I see her eyes, I think of too many toys parting, saying goodbye.

  And when I see her, each porous inch of skin dwelling on something I long for; I only see the things I could never see for I was blinded by my misery.

  And I hope that there are children like you reading this

  For we never grow into adults, we just grow into tall children with too many responsibilities.