safety blanket

a short piece about fanfiction and growing up

let’s start at the beggining.

when i was ten years old

i mean six

i mean four

i mean twenty-five

doesn’t matter

cause you were there for me

you were soft pages

and escapist fantasy

you were home

you were family

and you didn’t always do it perfectly

but you taught me that love won out

that i could be anything i wanted

that messing up was okay

you held me together, all these years

and that’s gotta count for something, babe

and god, you were there

when the sky was black in the costco parking lot

and i didn’t have anyone to turn to

you were gentle

and you were kind

at a time when i didn’t know that kind of love was possible

and for that, i’m always gonna be grateful

’cause you sung me to sleep

you held me close to your chest

you let me be a kid, for just a couple minutes a day

and when things got bad

i made shadow puppets on the floor

and those imaginary friends, they always told me

that i didn’t have to be afraid anymore

i gave you my heart

and my soul

until i don’t know who i am without you

until the world seems grey without you

until i’m not sure if i’ll ever stop

sleeping with teddy bears

and writing stories about magic

cause you were my safety blanket

when the ceiling crumpled

you held it up like atlas

you gave me the courage i needed to find my way through

and darling, i’m scared

ladybug, i don’t know what i’ll do without you

and my friends will probably laugh

and roll their eyes

’cause they weren’t held together by school-safe glue and craft glitter

for most of their lives

’cause they know how to grow, and change

and leave the thing they love most in the world behind

sweetheart, i’m not ready to grow up

but this twin sized bed is getting smaller by the day

and thumbprint cookies just don’t taste the same


I grew up obsessing over books and stories I liked. Fanfiction was how I learned to write, and it’s still close to my heart. I honestly don’t know where I’d be now without it. It’s made me a better writer, and as I get older, I feel like I have to let it go. I don’t want to be 30 and still desperately clinging to book series I read in middle school. But… honestly, I’ve lost a lot of things, and right now, I don’t think I can stand to let one more go. I don’t think I want to.

A part of me is… a little scared, honestly. That I’m never gonna make my own stories, as good as the ones I could make in a borrowed world.

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