My mom says my imagination is too big. I should cut it into smaller pieces so the coloring book in my head can fit on the kitchen table. But how do I shrink the moon or turn a rainbow into ribbon when tomorrow seems a year away? I never fit where I am or reach where I want to go. Chairs are uncomfortable, shoes keep my feet from feeling the grass, and every time I see a butterfly I know one day I’ll have wings. Mom can’t hear the dandelions or hold a spoon against the window to catch drops of sunlight before night covers it with stars. I don’t think I ever want to grow up. I’d be too bored. Where would I put my teddy bears when my bed is nothing but an ocean of pillows? Susie Clevenger 2024 What's Going On? ~ Children Susie Clevenger 2024
Art should be served for breakfast, over easy or hard boiled, oatmeal or Danish, or a cup of black coffee poured into an astronaut cup demanding it needs more space. I love the mania of my insomnia is greeted with the weird on my walls, the odd on my shelves, and the bright splash of painted hearts dancing with shadows in my living room. There is an anthology of quotes placed like easter eggs in frames for me to search when I can’t decide which mood to wear with my pajamas. An early riser wired with ADHD the squirrel cage in my brain attempts to conjure focus, but fails to leave crumbs for me to follow so the helter skelter of my décor is the storm I find calm in. I enjoy my museum eclectic. It has bits of quiet and fever for attention. My curiosities, creations, and ink run cage free feeding on dust and fingerprints. Yes, art should be served for breakfast. I can sit amongst my gaggle of muses, spoon a teaspoon of cackles in my coffee, and ponder how many flowers it will ta...
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