Peter Pan Says I Can.

Tell me something;
remind me
that thunder is scientific,
and ground my illusions
that giants are bowling enthusiasts.

I'll just put them back in the sky once you've turned your back;

I am sure I am happier than you for this.

Take away
my bottles of faerie dust.
Lock me in a room with wide windows
that are too high to jump from.

You forget I am best friends with Peter Pan,

and that no one can match my happy thoughts.

Tell me scary stories
to frighten me out of fanciful behavior,
make something up
about deadly night vapors
like in the sixteen hundreds.

I will breathe deep

and remind you I've always dreamt of suffocating-just once.

Say you will leave me,
if I keep going outside
by myself at night.
Pull on my weaknesses
like a marionette's strings.

I'll drag you outside and show you the big dipper

and ask you to help me find it's partner; she seems to have disappeared.

I will not begrudge,
you're just afraid I'll run off
when you're not looking.

and that would kill you

faster than it takes you to decide it yourself.