Poem: Live Life Through the Eyes of a Chid

The world is not yet labeled
not “ordinary,” not “late,” not “mine” or “yours”—
just a wide-open question
waiting to be touched.

Puddles are not obstacles
but oceans brave enough to fit in your step.
A stick is a sword, a wand, a story
that hasn’t decided what it is yet.

Time doesn’t rush—it wanders,
stretching a single afternoon
into something endless and golden.
Five minutes can hold a lifetime
if you’re looking closely enough.

Every face is a mystery,
every door a maybe,
every cloud a shape that matters
because you said it does.

You don’t measure your worth
in numbers or mirrors—
you just exist, loud and unfiltered,
like laughter that forgot to ask permission.

And when you fall,
you don’t call it failure—
you call it falling,
then you stand again
because standing is what comes next.

To live like this
is to loosen your grip on certainty,
to let wonder lead instead of fear,
to believe—just a little—
that magic isn’t rare,
only overlooked.

So kneel down to the small things,
listen to the quiet amazement of being,
and remember:
the world was never meant
to feel this heavy.