You ask me not to imagine,
You ask me not to build,
Castles of glass, and sand.
You are afraid of what they do to me.
What they make me do.
You’re right. In parts.

I walk in the castle,
With my eyes open.
I know what they are.
I walk. Don’t stop to stare.
Or lay down in bed.
I walk, through the castle.

You ask me to stop walking.
Or so I think. Realize. Feel.
I can’t stop that. Walking. Making.
I need to keep making the castles.
Not need. Its natural, usual, knee-jerk.
I create castles out of thin air.
I make dragons, for you to slay.
I can not not do that. Its natural.
Its usual. Its who I am.
The writer. The dreamer. The story-teller.