cage

legs caught in running swish together,
scissorblades sweeping the long grass aside
as the girl laughs bubbles of glee to the sky,
caught with a balloon
tied to her wrist
and helium dreams a mile wide.

but as the girl grew older, she learned of the world
and how people think dreams
should keep to themselves:
be wrapped up in boxes
kept under your bed,
but dreams, like birds, do better when fed,
and always yearn to fly,
even when caged.


so she still stomps in puddles,
shrieking with the storm,
and climbs trees to be the first to feel the rain.
and as the years pass,
only one thing has changed:
she now keeps those helium dreams in her pockets,
and fears all the more being carried away.

--
Title is prompt. That, and today is my 22nd birthday, and I spent a good deal of it playing in the rain like a kid.