Jade McGlynn Poet Spoken Word

Borrowed Magic

I don't run away.
At least,
Not in the way people think.

I don't pack a bag,
Slam a door,
Leave a life behind.

I just open a book.

And suddenly,
My biggest decision is whether to trust the morally grey prince,
Whether the wolf will come back,
Whether the stars are really falling or if destiny has just learned my name.

For a little while,
The emails stop screaming,
The dishes stop waiting,
The anxiety stops counting every breath.

Bills don't exist.
Bad days don't exist.
The ache in my chest doesn't get a speaking part.

Instead,
I'm walking through enchanted forests where the trees whisper secrets,
Standing on mountains dusted with snow,
Watching dragons paint the sky like they own the sun.

People call it escapism.
Like it's something shameful.

But tell me,
What's wrong with finding a doorway when the walls are closing in?

Fantasy didn't ask me to be fearless.
It just handed me a sword made of paper and reminded me that every hero starts the story convinced they're ordinary.

It taught me that darkness is never the whole tale.
That monsters can be beaten.
That broken things can still be magical.
That found families are real, and love can be fierce enough to rewrite fate itself.

Every chapter is another breath I remembered to take.
Every page is another reminder that impossible things happen all the time.

So when the world feels too loud,
Too heavy,
Too much.

I'll disappear.
Not forever.

Just long enough to borrow a little courage
from a girl who rides dragons,
A little hope from a boy who talks to wolves,
A little strength from kingdoms that refused to fall.

And when I close the book,
I come back.
Still me.
Just carrying a little more magic than I had before

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