Pan

For once I'd like to dive into bed and realize it's a pool instead, engulfing my stomach, my nose, my feet. That'd be a surprise.

For once I'd like to drag race my 1999 Buick Park Avenue through the two-mile strip in town and not face jail time.

For once I'd like to climb a birch tree and weigh the very tip of a branch so low that I could slide down and reach ground again.

For once I'd like to jump off a ten story building and string a web from my wrists or unfold an umbrella or span my wings

For once I'd like to shave half of my hair or bedazzle my face or quirk-ify my style.

For once I'd like to bust out a musical talent somewhere and write witty, angry, funny songs like the queen herself Kate Nash.

For once I'd like to say, "People (eople...eople...eople) of our great Nation (ation...ation...ation). Now is the time (ime...ime...ime) to stand up and stay strong in a world of strife (ife...ife...ife)" on the steps of our Lincoln Memorial

For once I'd like to "shake it like a Polaroid picture," but that's been a dream since high school when everyone else dreamed the same thing

Peter Pan is teaching me that when the first baby sneezed faeries were shattered all around

And that thimbling is so much more fun than giving kisses

And that maybe dreams can co-exist with reality.

Thank you, Mr. Barrie.