Running Away

Take me back to the time

of our first disclosure,

when poetry was simply words

strung together forming childlike tales

of hand-me-downs and days gone by;

when sentences were sterile and metaphors

lovely in their innocence.

Take me to the time of budding flowers,

when motivation was something to be sought after—

a time for living, heart-strung

on sleeveless t-shirts,

working the fields, and minimum wage.

Send me back to the place

where creativity was boundless

and stifled silence from gaunt tongues

did not yet exist;

a time of heartache and heart break,

whimsical fantasy lore

and creatures of comfort.

Usher me back to the place where I began,

a place of stainless pleasure,

when bike rides were just bike rides

and sex was naught yet found.

The place where abandonment was a lie

and the future still held all her stars in the sky.