That those pretty dreams and high hopes
eventually end up outdated,
like tacky flashing yoyos,
and faded, like worn-out teddy bears.
That you outgrow things,
like gaudy costume jewellry,
and lose touch,
because of phone numbers too hard to dial,
and friends that live in that magical, far-away land
of around the corner.
You become disillusioned
by phoeix and cheese sandwiches,
and a haggard Cinderella snoring in the fireplace,
her long, matted hair grey from age and ashes.
The dog refuses to eat your homework
and takes out a restraining order on you.
Birds eat your magic beans
instead of your bread crumbs,
and leave you to explain to your mother
why she smells mold when she steps out the back door.
The world continues to go around
whether you have money, or love,
or time to run to the shops to get chocolate,
Luck is like the weather forecast:
you can't depend on it.
You just have to be prepared -
for everything to go horribly wrong,
or good in ways you never thought of.
To use a