They said to my face that my garden was beautiful,
that my dreams would have fruit,
and grow vivid blooming flowers,
but they walked away muttering
It’s smothered in weeds
People gossiped underneath bed covers that reality would shock me soon,
that I couldn't make a footprint on a concrete sidewalk,
or walk on top of water
But I believed in my mission the way toddlers believe in Santa Claus, or the way writers believe in reading
I glued my illusion with sticky fluids to my heart
crushing away the insults into tiny bubbles
Forever hearing that the urgency I had strapped to my back wasn’t one I could carry.
That the hope I SHOULD have shouldn’t even be as big as a bagel hole.
But different pens fit different hands,
and my pen was about to write a YET unaccomplished story.
my body held a dream the way an architect holds a skyscraper.
Flesh portraying a shining armor
dreamland was the knight.
But this isn’t about the size of aspirations; it’s about the size of faith.
me and my kid neighbor used to pluck the seeds from our freshly eaten apples,
plant them in the shriveling grass and say “GROW!”
but our A.D.D. minds soon forgot all about it.
our apple seed never grew, never scraped the sky,
but that was because we didnt nurture it,
didn’t have faith.
Planting a tree was innocent enough, but to revolutionize a world
well that was ambition.
like when I was little,
I wanted so badly to be like mr. incredible, batman, and superman.
but when reality dropped by, and told me there was no santa claus, my hopes were kicked down, and my heroes were robbed from me.
my dreams were like that for awhile,
but when i distinguished the difference between fantasy and faith,
my dreams became as unstoppable as ice cream falling to the ground on a sticky summer day.
fresh inspiration became braided with expectation
fueling the engine to my sputtering car.
lost anticipations were found again.
sounding like fingers to a type writer, raindrops to a puddle.
Each tap, each drop, creating a song louder than it’s speakers.
Every bit fits together like a straw to its berry,
peanut to its butter,
and the twinkle to a star.
I remember when we went to gigantic state fairs,
caramel apples were the biggest treat.
but to my disappointment, nearly every apple was old and stale,
covered in caramel to try and make up for it.
and yeah, it did make up for it for a short time,
but when the aftertaste pushed its way up,
all delight was chucked out to the field
along with too sweet cotton candy,
and oil saturated foods.
i’m in a constant battle to make sure my dreams dont have a bad after taste,
it’s true flavor only to last for the length of a tv episode.
i want my ambitions not to be 30 minutes long,
but a life time season,
only coming to its finale when my goal has been grabbed.
but even then, it won’t be over,
because after season 1, comes the new,
I used to dream of being a star baseball player,
a champ at basketball, and a beast at dancing.
but i didnt know at all WHO i wanted to be.
teachers told me i could be ANYTHING i wanted.
but the world confused me,
told me i couldnt do it,
and i wouldnt make it.
but i’ve learned what this life has to offer
and i realized i wanna be a world changer.
my garden has weeds,
but its not smothered in them.
people still whisper about unaccomplishments,
and failed plans.
but it doesnt bother me now,
at least my garden has some flowers.