Growing Up

I've always been a believer in fairytales. Always. Even the moments I denied believing, I had hoped that they were real. It kept me sane.

Growing up, the noise of my childhood seemed to scream the contrary with every breath. But I withstood, I don't know how or why, the howling winds that seemed to diminish the hope that true happiness existed, that true love could be found, or that a soul could find true belonging.

I imagine that the cruel realities that touched our family, or our town, or our ancestors had filtered down, and shaded the sunlight of hope. Living is hard, sometimes a struggle nigh to heartbreak. Although I didn't experience the heartbreak of those who had been indeed broken, I felt the consequences as everywhere I turned there seemed to be no redemption from an arduous and exhausting life experience. I was often called a Polyanna, or naive for still believing life wouldn't always be a big pile of crap, but instead tried to look beyond the current pile which sometimes was up to my knees that buckled to the earth under the strain.

But there were moments in my life that gave me hope. And so, for those times, I fed that belief that my Neverland is real, the dream-like joy is attainable. I have had occasion to feel the full affect of sunlight on my face, an acceptance and promise of eternal happiness.

So, yes, I do believe in Neverland. I invite you to join me as I journey through this time, stretching my experiences, growing as a writer and artist, and feeding on an internal place that brings me joy.

If you do read this and judge me, please think about what I am trying to say, vs what it means to you. Like analyzing poetry, it isn't always the literal meaning that describes my heart.