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Catching Fireflies
When I was 8 years old,
I tried to catch fireflies,
As they flew around,
Illuminating summer evenings.
When I succeeded
I’d cup them in my hands,
Watch them glow,
Before they would fly away.
One night,
I was chasing them,
When I heard snickering
A few yards away.
“Freak!”
A neighbor kid yelled,
“Catching bugs?
What are you - three?”
I didn’t acknowledge them.
Their words hurt,
And I wanted to cry
But I was used to it.
I went back to my fun,
Ignoring the mocking voices
Of the other kids In the neighborhood
Even as they stalked towards me.
I was snagged
Away from
The fireflies,
By an older kid.
She dragged me away,
Throwing me upon
The sidewalk in front of
The other kids.
I was petrified,
By their cold stares,
And how their words hurt
More than the beating.
I remember,
Laying there
In the grass
Afterwards.
I stared at the sky,
And I silently begged God
To return my childhood,
Or strike me dead.
A firefly,
Landed on my hand,
And illuminated
The evening darkness.
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