An Ode to the Untapped Mind

I used to think I was magical;

I knew what imagination was and I knew

Other kids had it, too. But mine was different.

Mine was something pure and powerful --

Derived from the ether. Every day I would walk

Down a long, snakey dirt road to our old

Farmhouse after school.

A simple, ten minute walk I realized

during a recent return. Back then, the walk felt like a bliss-filled

Eternity. It was my time to relish in solitude,

breath her in, let her expand in me. My grandma was at work

And the men who farmed our lands were buried

In the thickets of the rolling gold fields. So I’d

Tap into my skull and allow my imagination to escape

Through the small crack and paint the skies, seep into the

Ground below. The portrait of my mind’s eye would come alive

And dance around me. The watery air would become

My sacred, beloved blank canvas. With a simple blink,

The sky would be steeped in pink,

As pink as peonies. The trees would sway like unhinged slinkies.

Herds of cows turned to flocks of zebras, whipped clouds

Sweet and soft as cotton candy. Ecstasy would vibrate

In my bones and through my fingertips. I was a quenchless

Artist and nothing was free from my frantic artistic pursuits.

I vowed to myself that no one would know the depth or duration

Of my mind’s delectable powers. Not my peers -- they would

Torture me, force me to use it for their childish desires. The sweet

Fruits of my labours would be manipulated

To turn the world inflatable, frivilous, foolish.

The adults, too, were forbidden from my truth.

I knew they would pry the power from my palms. Stick me

In a stale white room, lock me up, inspect and dissect me

Like a newly discovered, dangerous creature from the Amazon. So

No one would ever know. I made a promise to me, to never

Expose myself. The world would have to wait

Until I was ten feet underground. Surely as I decayed,

Unimaginable colors and creatures would seep into the soil

And bloom at my grave.