Park Slope

I want to be a poet.

We all wish to be these

wonderful things,

these dreams we tuck into

the pockets of

our sweaters,

these flying aspirations

we let flutter in our

ribcages.

All of these wishes

in letter-envelopes,

waiting to be mailed,

unlabeled and stampless.

I want so much for

everyone to

be

exactly what they've always

dreamed of being.

It's how people can be truly happy,

with themselves and with the world.

What is the world supposed to do

with all of these unhappy people

who were never allowed dreams?

Or the ones who dreamt

but those dreams were

cut short, forgotten

in the face of adulthood-reality.

What about these poor

grey people, who are not

fulfilled? Who aren't happy?

They deserve to be given wings,

these souls whose dreams

were snatched away,

like whispers of steam.

Why in society

do we forbid people

to actually pursue

their highest ambitions?

Or live their dreams

through every glorious dawn?

Some unhappy people cannot

see beauty, they cannot

see adventure.

Something in them has been

blinded, killed, and stamped out.

Those who are unhappy,

deserve to be happy.

Everyone deserves that much.

Because it's not about

possessions, or wealth;

being happy stems from within

and by doing something you love.

Everyone has the right to do

what they love.

To live, and not merely exist.

Everyone's dreams deserve to be

recognized.