Dreams keep me up at night.
Thinking about, “If only I could be them!”
Maybe then people would listen.
No one cares about the dreams of the quiet girl in the back of the class.
That’s my dream.
You may not care, but to me it is important.
It is what silences the hatred.
“You can’t be a pharmacist.”
“Your poor idiot!”
Ha! Foolish children!
I will remember that when they are looking for their psychiatric meds.
My love for this is deep.
I just want people to listen.
I want a chance.
Where is my hope?
It lies in the hands of the rich.
So I grovel.