Six forty-six of the fourth of five; Seven

At 7, I knew I was more than my age
Mornings made up of finding words to help me how to write my thoughts
Afternoon nap time taken for granted over analysing the world
And nights, were very busy, spent on walking on imaginary catwalks, dialling numbers of made-up clients for trials I’m going to defend them on, singing and dancing on dream concerts, and healing all the stuffed toys.
At 7, I knew I was everything I imagined.
I knew I could do them all.
At 7, I didn’t know the meaning of the words courage, passion, and enthusiasm
But I knew I was so eager to take on everything
I swear, my heart had that kind of beat that sounded like my voice changing my life one step at a time.
But at 7, I found a little about life on the side that contradicts all the things I wanted.
I heard foolish, shallow, and too dreamy- too many times, so I’ve spent most of my time searching what they actually meant
Afternoon snack time turned into digesting what they kept telling me to grow up and be realistic
And nights, were very hard, grasping every dream and bottling them up, silencing words I’ve already gained to build my confidence, and catching tears made up of all the light my heart would have wanted to shine on.
And at 7, I learned to become a person.
Not everything I knew I could be, but everything they could accept as.
I still wasn’t taught of so many words
But I realized now, that at 7, I already knew what invalid feels like.
I learned to fear all the things I dreamt of, because they all seem unreachable and senseless.
I learned to stop running despite wanting to fly
I learned to become silent, even with a mind that does not stop thinking about stuff
I learned to get tired of being myself, because you see, I’m probably just looking for things I cannot actually reach
At 7, I knew I was some kind of wild fire, but the good kind
The kind that could light up the whole town
The kind that could make things feel more alive
But at 7, I then felt I was some kind of wild fire, but the kind that could destroy
The kind that could burn the rest as much as it can burn itself
The kind that could turn what you can hold into ashes even without wanting to do so.
At 7, I feared fire, so much, I became one
And at 7, I feared fire so I dimmed my own light, too much, I’ve let it die out.


* One of my entries to the Drunken Poetry Night’s contest last April


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