I began my journey with writing poetry,
in order to understand what was inside of me—
the way my mind worked; how I thought,
the intricacies of all the wonders of life I’d sought.
Human emotions I had always bottled up inside,
I wrote poetry so that I could dig deeper into my mind.
And for the most part, I always felt better afterwards—
I felt as though I could conquer anything, even time.
Though I know now that time has never been forever,
so we, as a species, should enjoy it while we’re here, together.
Tomorrow is a mystery, and today is all we’ll ever see,
whereas yesterday was a lesson wrapped around a tether.
I began my adventure with quite a peculiar art,
so that it may wash all my sorrows away—cleansing my heart.
And by no means does art have to ever be perfect,
but to begin somewhere, anywhere—it’s a start.
The overwhelming ideas and thoughts racing through my head
sometimes have me feeling as though I’d rather be dead;
to forget everything—to erase my mind from all of reality.
But then something came to me in a vivid dream.
I dreamt of a life—a reality where we could all coexist,
a serene utopia where all the world’s problems had been fixed.
And in this dream, I realized, that was all it was—just a dream.
But what is a dream if not for a possible future, a potential reality?
My emotions began to swell with excitement—I was happy,
I think, because now I understood the concept of reality.
I could figure out the way the world works
and write more poetry, so that all the world could see