jealousies and worry-laden

part of having an innocent childhood
is being able to return there
(at need?)
a haven where wonder exists
the love of beauty

see
jealousy of those who are happy
also developed with scorn
because the assumption
was that we were dumber
and just happy from ignorance
it did not cross
the minds of the others
that intelligence
is what chose the path
of happiness (wonder dressed by imagination)
rather than the path of jealousies
and competition (hate dressed by inadequacy)

so there is a reason some parents
let their children be innocent
guarded that
did not fill children with their own
assumptions and disappointments
did not try to place them higher
in the rat race at the starting line

and you can return to that innocence
(in some ways)
find wonder when you need it
grasp the foundations of
life lived for joy, not
excellence

i think about others seeing it as a waste
and i laugh
my childhood delight bubbling to the surface

to find your own path,
no matter how small
from a start not imposed

upon

by adult stress(es)

we were the happy ones
ones that could run and be…
they were trapped in some kind of
prison for childhood souls
directions pertaining to
quotients in the degree of satisfaction for others

and to only have to satisfy the self… it was
strange to hear “i’m proud of you” from
a death bed.

the sharp realization that that was never needed…

she was my friend

not my coach for the rat race.

and i won from the start, because choice
is always better
when discovery is at the heart
in the heart

choice is something you don’t abandon
for despair
because it was yours all along

i think they can let their own
miseries
call it mental sickness… the inappropriate joy
and lift of everything wonderful

but the wrongs were childhoods without innocence
where adult ambition
overshadowed
little lives
making them different from my own

we weren’t just happier
we were smarter for choosing happiness

for letting them have their put-downs
and frowns
of what they thought was knowledge:
adult understandings placed in child minds
(warped by the simple nature of no room at the inn)

discovering my own has not been easy
but at least i can claim it, fully

at least i can say with a true heart
i would have given everything

completely when my all is to live
and hurt “beyond” reason

…THEIR reason!

that disdain or unconditional
parental surrender was a blessing

maybe i took my freedom
maybe so
maybe it is scorned mostly for
how it seems such a loser

i think about that and feel sorry only for
the waste
crying for the self never allowed
that is true
the one place where a foot was settled down squarely

but see
you know you were loved
when someone couldn’t stand to see you unhappy

and now
when i look at that love as knowledge
never passed down
never imposed

only the ways of unforgiveness
haunt this spectrum… dancing of light
existence
built by the uncompromising nature

of freedom.

the dead bird lies in my hand
…. i look down, continually baffled
by how it can be!
stunned by my condemnation of things

how can this be…
with the only grace, a hole
dirt placed back
…no tears,
because death is no place for crying

you cry for life
pain means you are alive
but for death
you march on with the living

i can see, now
how my seemingly careless form of happiness
annoyed the crap out of others
(still annoys?)

but you see, it made her glad
the only thing that could
when the sorrows of death shook her cage
so strongly
that she was the last
general
of her age

to bring a smile made me necessary

and i had to do that with my own joy
who couldn’t?

and that is the blessing of childhood
the building of innocence and love
the forward motion to undisputed construction of dreams…

where the rat races all stand still
still and still…

sadness the construct
of wants given rather than known,
lanes clogged with jealousies and worry-laden
humans

unaware of circles
plodded
unaware that mysteries in life are important
that new paths exist

only for those willing to discover
themselves wondering

where they lead

and brave enough
there is that

the baby bird that left the nest too early
dead in my hand…

if i cried over that
i would be crying for myself
that is the truth

i chose happiness
and a way to not be

duplicated

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