Once upon a time
a wax moon and paper-mâché stars were my life.
The night sky became an art project
from my fourth grade days
when I was one year away from being another top dog on the playground.
I was only nine years old but at that age
I found pleasure in the simple things,
like the happiness that sunshine brings
or vaulting off the swing set and praying I would hit the sand
and stick my landing.
My life back then was so demanding,
making sure I was always handing in my homework,
climbing trees with my friends then checking
to make sure that my clothes weren’t ripped
because if they were my mother would be pissed
and she’d use it as an excuse to get me more.
When I was in the fourth grade I hated shopping.
I was always too busy popping bubbles in midair and
stomping through puddles to even care if my clothes fit right
or if I had holes in the knees of my jeans and
“Please, Mom. Can’t we do this next week?
I’m supposed to go to Jamie’s house
to play hide-and-go-seek.
All the other kids are gonna be there,
and I wanna go too. Besides,
I’m the best hider in the group.”
Naturally, she wouldn’t listen and I’d end up missin’ out.
Guess she just didn’t understand what was so important
about fitting in with a group of grade school kids
who were as fickle as a group of grade school kids could be.
Eventually, the flow of our friendship trickled into
the end of an era
and we parted ways because I didn’t have the beauty or the brains,
the money or the schoolyard fame and
they weren’t okay with having me around.
So while they were flying high and beating people down,
I was somewhere off to the side with my eyes to the ground.
That was how the pale moon found me.
But now, it’s waning
and the stars are waving goodbye,
they’re fading and losing their light
and suddenly,
my night sky doesn’t seem so pretty.
It’s a pity
‘cause I’ve always felt that the stars were my friends.
They just get me, you know?
They’ve been with me since the day I was born
and they never cared if my clothes were torn;
they have never stolen hours from me and
they don’t give a **** about my lack of popularity.
That, in all honesty, is a rarity these days and
it kills me to know it’s just slipping away.
So when I’m alone or I’m lonely,
feeling like I’m the only one with nothing to say,
I look back on my grade school days and
my eyes gaze on a little wax moon and
stars made of paper-mâché
and in that moment,
everything seems okay.
a wax moon and paper-mâché stars were my life.
The night sky became an art project
from my fourth grade days
when I was one year away from being another top dog on the playground.
I was only nine years old but at that age
I found pleasure in the simple things,
like the happiness that sunshine brings
or vaulting off the swing set and praying I would hit the sand
and stick my landing.
My life back then was so demanding,
making sure I was always handing in my homework,
climbing trees with my friends then checking
to make sure that my clothes weren’t ripped
because if they were my mother would be pissed
and she’d use it as an excuse to get me more.
When I was in the fourth grade I hated shopping.
I was always too busy popping bubbles in midair and
stomping through puddles to even care if my clothes fit right
or if I had holes in the knees of my jeans and
“Please, Mom. Can’t we do this next week?
I’m supposed to go to Jamie’s house
to play hide-and-go-seek.
All the other kids are gonna be there,
and I wanna go too. Besides,
I’m the best hider in the group.”
Naturally, she wouldn’t listen and I’d end up missin’ out.
Guess she just didn’t understand what was so important
about fitting in with a group of grade school kids
who were as fickle as a group of grade school kids could be.
Eventually, the flow of our friendship trickled into
the end of an era
and we parted ways because I didn’t have the beauty or the brains,
the money or the schoolyard fame and
they weren’t okay with having me around.
So while they were flying high and beating people down,
I was somewhere off to the side with my eyes to the ground.
That was how the pale moon found me.
But now, it’s waning
and the stars are waving goodbye,
they’re fading and losing their light
and suddenly,
my night sky doesn’t seem so pretty.
It’s a pity
‘cause I’ve always felt that the stars were my friends.
They just get me, you know?
They’ve been with me since the day I was born
and they never cared if my clothes were torn;
they have never stolen hours from me and
they don’t give a **** about my lack of popularity.
That, in all honesty, is a rarity these days and
it kills me to know it’s just slipping away.
So when I’m alone or I’m lonely,
feeling like I’m the only one with nothing to say,
I look back on my grade school days and
my eyes gaze on a little wax moon and
stars made of paper-mâché
and in that moment,
everything seems okay.
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