tell yourself that all that magic stuff
the talking cats and those furry monsters
that lived deep in the woods
were all part of your
overactive imagination

resolve to be lovable
the way you choose to be fashionable
clothe yourself in Name Brands
and smile a lot

the papercuts
still hurt

after decades of the charade
realize, in the wise way of children
that being fake is stupid

ask the cat at the antique store for help
follow them to find a weathered
pair of wings buried in an old steamer trunk
buy them
don’t even wait to smooth out the wrinkles

decide to fly

scream as you soar high enough
to taste stars
sweet and bitter and cold
and glorious

the old cuts still sting
but that’s okay
your shoulder hurts, too
your knees pop
your teeth aren’t all real but
your grin is

fly through midnight woods
where the monsters still wait
cry as they welcome you home
their dagger-long claws
gentle
upon your back