Sticky Hands & Silk

 Math confused me, clocks made no sense. But sticky hands? That was pure offense.

I was fearless then, a wild child, 

Running around, free and wild.

I loved to color, though couldn’t draw.

My handwriting broke the law.

Imaginary friends? I had a few,

Saw the world from a different view.

Stimming? Oh, all the time.

Rubbing any silk I could find.

Elbows I loved them too, 

Infact, I still do. 

Some things you hold onto.

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