Dear little me, somewhere far in the past,
I envy the days that went by far too fast.
With time moving quicker and plots growing thicker,
I start sadly wishing that those days could last.

To me, at the old house where fun always grew,
Adventures and stories came easy to you.
Through nature you’d go, and ideas would flow,
You learned that all things could be poetry, too.

I love that you wrote tales and journaled your dreams,
Imagining beautiful, colorful scenes.
You never did stop and your pen didn’t drop,
Until you expressed every thought in your being.

Nothing did stifle your creative side,
Living out life having nothing to hide.
No one could hold you, the world did not mold you,
Your mind was a place you could safely abide.

When growing brought busyness, drama and friends,
Your innocent passions came close to an end.
Your mind was twisted, one blink and you missed it,
You now view the world through a foggier lens.

Dear little me, I regret now to say,
Things are much different than back in your day.
There’s pressure and trauma, immeasurable drama,
But trust me; the storm ends and all is okay.

Oh little me, though so much here has changed,
You and your writing were never estranged.
You keep on writing and I’ll keep on fighting,
To gain motivation for one final page.