When we are young
and just children we
set birds free so easily
flinging wide the doors
to our ribs so that
they could stretch their
wings and fly to our collar
bones, to stay perched there
singing tunes we can't
remember now.

I remember when I was
a little girl I had tea
with the fairies every
afternoon, sitting
cross legged in
gardens with my pink
skirt billowing when
the wind tugged playfully
at it. In my mind,
I sat in a golden
forest, with bottled
sunshine swinging from
tree branches. The fairies
liked to braid wildflowers
into my tumbled, windblown
hair while I watched
butterflies every
color imaginable flit
through sturdy branches.

When I was a little
girl the couch could be
a pirate ship, and I
would deliver wet,
sloppy kisses on the
fluffy ear of my
First Mate who may
or may not have been
a dog. The pool was
a mermaid lagoon
straight from a
Peter Pan story and
I grew shimmering scales
and gills, my cheeks
smelling softly of
sunscreen.

I honestly don't know
at what point we close
the bone bars of our
rib cage up,imprisoning
our birds, but it
comes at the same time
that we lock up our
innocence and winsome
thoughts in a musty old
attic.

Maybe it's when we learn
that being an adult
isn't about getting to
make choices like we
always thought it did,
but when we learn that
it's about consequences
to them, and until
you feel the searing,
hot regret of a decision
you never should have made
you'll never understand
adulthood.

And it isn't until
you're all grown up
that you start to realize
that you don't have to
cage your bird or put
away fairies and pirates
to be an adult. You
must let the bird whistle
and hum to ever be complete.