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I can never forget the days,

before 1am, caffeine-fuelled essays,

and gas and electricity bills,

and when I didn’t need any pills.

The time of holding mummy’s hand,

and jumping in muddy puddles,

and playing in the sea and sand,

and trying not to get in trouble.

When I didn’t need to worry about the cost of food,

or think about how I’d be perceived and viewed,

and if I would ever be loved,

and if I would ever be enough.

Where I would play with bubbles in the bath,

and the times of falling over and picking up scars,

the land of make-believe and fairies and princesses,

with glitter and wings and sparkly dresses.

Image courtesy of Annie Spratt

Categories: Article, PoetryTags: Poetry