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When I was young, I went to the circus.
My parents and I took our seats under the metal rafters of some rusting coliseum.
I soon became overwhelmed with moments of joy, fear and confusion.
I saw animals being whipped! I saw clowns rob a bank, and angels fall from wires.
Heard a boom from a canon, and the roar of tigers.
Heard the panicked voice of my mother, urging me to look as my attention drifted constantly,
"you're missing it, LOOK!"
and the applause from the crowd, and the crumpling of candy wrappers under my feet,
and the crackle of police guns, as they chased the clowns away.
My father was cracking up when the clowns fell down.
It's funny, I know, but I thought the clowns died. I started to cry.
So my father bought me a kaleidoscope to comfort me.
Soon my reality was new,
on the broken and ever changing colors.
I kept looking
and left the circus behind,
because it didn't matter any more.