Before I had paper. Before I had pen.
I wrapped clouds around my finger. Cotton candy on a stick.
That’s where the habit of me wetting the tip of a pen before I started writing originated.
The sky was my canvas. How I pulled words out of thin air.
My eraser? The wind can be so dramatic. Always a huffing and a puffing when I make mistakes.
But the sun was like a chandelier. It highlights everything great.
I never landed on the moon, but I have rode pass it on my bicycle.
I was caught between a rock and a hard place like E.T.
But when I saw trees covered in toilet paper I knew I made it home.
I put my foot in the door and left it there for an hour before I walked inside.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
I see little yes in the hallway. Big yes in the kitchen. Yes men in the living room.
I know. I know. Some dads go to the store and never come back. But don’t call it a comeback. I’ve been here for years.
It’s just my mind that likes to disappear.