Photographic Dreamer


Why is it that when time flies by, dreams start to fade?

Bright butterflies in the sky shrivel up and die,

No longer is there light.


Optimism turns to pessimism,

One’s Light is barely there.

A battle between one’s self ending in negativity.


But why?


Why is that when we were young people told us we could be whatever we wanted to be?

That we could have whatever our heart desires,

Make our dreams come true.


Why is it different now that I’m 19?

Why does money have to overpower who I want to be?

Does success reflect how much you make or the risks you take?


Is it right to judge someone’s dreams,

Neither how big nor small they might be?

Do they have the right to look down on our dreams?


Pelting us with seeds of negativity, that soon forms trees of self-doubt.

Twisted branches puncturing the light,

Strangling the light out of one’s self.


A girl full of light and positivity now dull and down,

A light so pure dying.

No longer does her inner song play loud

As the darkness comes back around.




Her heart falters no more as she fights to obtain her light.

Who are you to say that I can’t follow my dreams?

To capture many moments of others through a camera?


What makes you better than I?


Absolutely nothing.


We are all human.

We dream and we love,

We work and we play.


Yet not all of us are the same.

There are dreamers and realists,

Optimist and pessimist.


Ones that shine bright as the sun,

And who love to dream and believe,

And others who like to crush our dreams.


But why?

Life is what you make it isn’t it?

Can’t you do whatever you want to do

As long as you know how to do it,

And are willing to give it your all too?


So why can you tell me I can’t be me?

To live a life of love and happiness,

To actually do what I love to do?


Why are you so concerned by how much money I would make?

Did you know that one can over come any obstacle as long as you are dedicated?

Did you know that while you mock me all you do is fuel my fire?


I can’t do it you say?

The girls light begins to grow,

Burning the trees to ash.


Butterflies fill the skies once more.

The air nor longer cold,

But basked by a light brighter than a thousand suns.


The girl is no longer dying,

But rather reviving the torn spirit she wore.

She raises her hands in the air and shouts,




Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741