One morning I woke up and thought, \

Leathery skin tanned brown after many long afternoons in the sun,
it's soft. It's clean. It smells like baby oil.
My mother's skin, growing older, daily older, has not lost it's charm.

I want to be little. I want to go outside, it's raining, I want to watch Disney. It's too late, I'm bored now. I want to drown out your noise with my own.

The radio plays softly loud noises that fill the air. I can't hear my thoughts. It's welcome. My stuffed animals stare accusingly at me from the end of my bed. I push them off with my feet. That'll teach 'em.

Band aids and Koolaid, corn dogs and mistakes. All is gone. I packed them up in my cardboard box, sitting on my top shelf. Not that I care now, but I'll draw up a map for later on so I can remember when I'm older.