Misadventures of a Ten Year Old


When I was a little kid
I would climb to the tops of buildings and trees.
And I would scream.
Scream at the top of my lungs.
Scream with ferocity and reckless abandon.

Scream just to, let the world know

I was THERE.

I existed.
I wasn’t a concept.
I wasn’t imaginary.
I was there.

I needed to feel like I wasn’t a nobody.
A random kid with dirty hands,
bruised knees,
cargo pants full of quarters,
Bird feathers,
And other random objects.

When I was a kid I was leader of the Wilds.
A group of feral children.
Stealing candy from stores.
Hiding in holes we dug underground.
Adopting all the dogs on the streets.
Collecting stones from broken bones and playing dead in the sand.

When I was a kid and I didn’t have friends, I would wander to the forest.
Counting every animal I saw.
Hanging deer skulls on trees.
Talking to moss about my day.
I would walk through the forest and get lost for hours.
I would come out on the other side of town and follow the road back home.
Wielding sticks and poison berries as my shield.

When I was a kid I waited until dark.
Waiting for everyone to fall asleep.
Silently climbing onto the roof to begin my nightly escapades.
From the roof I would jump onto the big maple tree that grew by the house.
A few risky branch hops and I was on the ground.

When I was a kid life was a game.
And I was the top player.

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