• Six Years Old Again
    I want to be six years old again.
    Where imagination was my best friend,
    giving me something to do whenever I got bored,
    to be able to play with anyone I pleased.
    I want to go back to the times when imagination
    and I would take over the slides
    telling the other kids to say “the magic words”
    and they would always say “please”
    when all they had to say was “open sesame.”
    I want to go back to when pinky promises meant everything.
    Where imagination
    and I would get into a fight one day
    and the next day we would be on the playground,
    playing on the monkey bars like nothing ever happened.
    I want to go back to the times when you could act like a
    princess or a power ranger and nobody would stare at you.
    I want to have recess like I did in elementary,
    where the boys played kickball and
    the girls would do hop scotch and jump rope.
    I want to go back to when my clothes could be anything that I could find,
    and best of all; didn't have to match.
    I want to be able to look forward to Halloween,
    just so that I could wear that fairy or princess costume
    and eat all that candy.
    I want to go back to when I still believed in Santa
    and imagination and me would write him letter telling him what we want for Christmas.
    And the next morning,
    waking up for Christmas morning,
    ripping open our presents to find out if our wishes coming true,
    feeling disappointed until we see that last box that says “from Santa.”
    And imagination and I would open it
    and see that toy that we wanted
    and the cookies and milk gone.
    I want to go back to when I thought 2+4 was hard
    and cursive didn't exist.
    I want to go back to when naptime was always in midday
    and show and tell would be something to look forward to.
    I want to go back to those times when
    school spirit week was the funnest week of the year.
    With pajama day, ethnicity day, and sports day.
    I want to go back to my first May Day celebration
    dressing up but knowing that imagination and
    I would be going home earlier than lunch time.
    To go back to when you could bring your favorite stuffed animal
    to school nobody would care.
    I want to go back to the times when imagination and
    I would get into argument,
    trying to figure out who was right and
    who was wrong, betting a “bajillion gazillion”
    dollars to who was right,
    but in reality, neither of us were right.
    I want to go back to the times when imagination
    and me would draw sick people and everyone in the picture would be smiling.
    I want to go back to my last day of school,
    waiting and waiting for the bell to ring.
    And imagination and I would scream at the top of lungs
    when the bell rang and it was time for our summer to begin
    and come past that corner that it was hiding behind.
    I want to go back to my first time at the beach,
    holding on to imagination's hand with all my might,
    and five minutes later we would be splashing around and
    making sand castles,
    playing like there wasn't anything to be afraid of in the first place.
    I want to go back to when imagination and
    I would play with dolls and dress up in silly clothes
    that our parents would never let us wear in public.
    And where my mom would tell me,
    “hold my hand while we cross the street, and look both ways.”
    I want to go back to when breakups in the family never existed and the words
    “I love you” only came from your parents.
    Childhood always passes by too fast,
    going by at the speed of light, racing with the sun's rays,
    not really giving us the chance to cherish our best friends or
    nap times or
    the moments on the playground that we all spent with our own imagination.
    When we weren't able to cherish anything more
    than our bag of Oreos. These moments were always the best, with no responsibilities.
    With only imagination and I trying to remember one of the most important things;
    getting older is mandatory but growing up is optional.