I used to believe
in abracadabra magic;
white rabbits from hats,
ribbons from shirt sleeves,
coins from behind my ear,
children’s party make believe;
dragons and princesses,
tall towers and treehouses,
and the way the wind blows whispers
when you are small and slight
with dreams dripping on your brow
and in the crooks of your knees.
I used to believe
in the magic of me;
the sparkles in my eyes,
glitter in my smile
and magenta hope
pounding in my chest;
my audacity to just be
instead of want and worry.
Somewhere along the way
I lost the child in me;
forgot her on the journey home
from your heart to mine.
She was a whirligig
of reckless abandon,
ratty red hair beating the wind
stood at the top of the castle
with the cheesy grin
of a dirty rascal.
I used to believe
my magic was a memory
but as I sit by the sea,
to lose landlocked melancholy,
I remember the she
in my poems and dreams
is still me.
© Kristiana Reed 2018
You hold on to that inner child x
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☺️
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I have mourned similar parts of me which I thought lost. I finally realized they are still there, it is the part of me who remembers them which is lost.
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Yep.. me too, girl. Ahh ❤
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💛💛
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The mourning of innocence lost in a rousing write… lovely indeed Kris! ❤️
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Thank you 💛
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Funny thing about magic. Even if you cannot see it, it is still there.
And I can see it quite clearly shining through those beautiful lines. 🌚
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Oh thank you ☺️
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We thrive within who we are, then we lose ourselves… the lucky are able to find themselves again… the sea has the power, doesn’t it? I love this, especially the last stanza.
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Thank you ☺️ I love the sea – it’s tranquility and it’s danger. It’s humbling 💛
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You are welcome 🙂 Me, too, and I have the privilege of living within a stone’s throw from it. ❤
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