dreaming again

Writing

At 11 years old I knew that I was the nicest kid around.

I knew that I couldn’t share my dreams because someone would always try to steal them or shoot them down.

I needed cleansing; I had just lost my heart, my mother

They say that to the man that much is given much more is expected from him.

I never wanted the world on my shoulders but I’ll carry it until my shoulders crack apart, my knees shake like a skyscraper in a quake. Shattered bone and blistered cartilage.

With no support I’ll still carry this weight upon me.

I’ve felt like a puppet to my own sadness, I’ve been told that I’m smart, bright, and can be anything that I want to be. I am lost in my thoughts, like I am at sea shouting for help trying to find some type of land to find refuge.

Now I am realizing that I will be the nicest man around, I feel like my heart is crushed when I see someone look sad, so I’ll try to make them smile even when I’m not wanted around.

I just want to be someone important.

That’s my life’s goal.

Just to be someone.

My destiny seems to be a cemetery of dropped dreams, full of regret.

No not regret they are realizations of the things that cannot be achieved just yet.

I will resurrect these dreams from their graves; these dreams shall sing a song of chivalrous pride.

I’ll be someone, I’ll be a legend in my own eyes when I grasp these dreams I hold.

The kindness I carry will be the death of me, but at least ill achieve these dreams.

I no longer want things, I only achieve them.

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