This is the little girl with September in her smile who wants nothing more than for her feet to grow wings as she dances to fly her to somewhere without bounds.

This is the boy who resorts to hiding his Walt Whitman behind a comic book so people don't question the light in his eyes.

These are the revolutionaries still waiting for their messiah. Who've yet to learn how to grab opportunity by its earlobes and drag it to where they can beat as much out of it as possible.

These are the lost ones
Those who forget where they come from or where they're going
Those with sandpaper skin and voices that tell their lives with one syllable
To those who are lost
Here's my advice

Looking in unlikely places is where you'll most likely find adventure
And never leave home without a journal and pen
Because changing the world usually starts with an idea inked on paper
Walking along with your nose in a book is an excellent way to bump into someone doing the exact same thing
If you stand in high places
You'll often feel what you think is the urge to jump
But more than that it's the urge to fall and see if your dreams will carry you off into the raspberry sorbet sky or if they'll drop you like a lump of lead on the sidewalk broken and bleeding and wishing you'd never dared to dream in the first place.
And if you want to preach, you don't need white robes and golden pedestals to do it right
Your heart will get broken sometimes
But when that happens all you have to do is put a hand on your chest and feel the pumping and pulsing the humming and drumming the ticking and tocking of your clockwork heart as it pumps liquid life through your veins telling you that it's okay if you need to eat an entire tub of ice cream
Everyone does now and then

Just remember,
You are who you pretend to be
So it's not a bad idea to make-believe you can turn your aspirations into dandelion fluff to grab hold of and sail away into the unknown where they will come to rest to bloom and grow and lift you so high you can touch the sun, round and golden as a dandelion blossom...

What makes you feel better
Than long walks at night,
A lung's breath of cold air,
Inklings of dreams and aspirations
With a halfhearted plan to get there.

I remember when you told me to
let it go
The words slipped out of your mouth but never did you let pride slip out of your fingers
I know, because every syllable still stings
The surface of my heart.

Mr. Building, you let go.
Allow the wind to blow against your hair and
create wrinkles on your clothing
But never let it
Knock the dreams right out of you
Because
I believe in them and never will I
Even stutter those words to you
le-le-let
Me take your hand and help you carry those burdens
Don't ever drop your ceramic hope,
Cling on to your glassy aspirations because dreams
Are made of fine china
So precious
So fragile
So so so beautiful
Please don't let  your chin fall to the ground.
Lift yourself up,
Because the world deserves to see
How tall He's built you
But prove to them
That when the earthquake comes,
You height's got nothing on your
Foundations.
And if telling me to let it go
Is to break me back into concrete,
Powder,
Cement,
Then by all means demolish these
Stories and hammer through these
Crevasses
Because every broken window
Is worth seeing you succeed.
It'll hurt me to the very ground,
But your standing tall
Will help me recover.

I remember when you told me to
let it go
Your breath smelled of coffee.
I can tell you've had a rough night.

And maybe
Just maybe
you spent
those sleepless nights
Deciding whether you should
Let it go, too.

where are you
someone in the midst of oblivion
somewhere i can't see from
the beady perception
from my lucid judgement

where are you
"i wish you would appear"
beyond my pain
beyond my inclinations

i feel compelled to tell you
i'm doing just fine

the waves surround me
like you never did

they tell me wishes don't come true.
and from what i've seen in my life i feel like that might be true
and though most things i've experienced have been unfair
how i seemed to miss so many opportunities here and there
but i feel like a wish came true when i asked for someone to live for
you seemed to come along and i felt as if the world wasn't so dark
and i wasn't so alone in everything i did
suddenly i wished to live my life again and not spend every moment escaping reality and making me want to see every beautiful thing there is to this world that i forgot to notice from the beginning.
so wishes may not come true
but dreams certainly do.
the proof i have of that is you

Age eighteen, living life as a low-middle class suburban jobless fool with a confusing relationship and a five year old boy. I have nerve damage to my left arm, smokers cough and lesser (haha) alcoholism.     I guess it's macaroni (not Kraft, way too expensive) and cheese (nothing fancy) tonight. I should apply for a new job tomorrow, but I'll probably have something else to do. Besides that, I have no clothes suitable for an interview anyway. My hair is a wild mess. From behind you might think, "****, she doesn't have an ***..."
...but from straight on, you might think, "****, he looks like Slash."
I do not look like Slash, by the way. At least I think not. Maybe with the right hat, but then, I am way too short. I can sing like Slash, though.
I learned to use my voice like, five years ago. How old was I...?
I can read like Joseph Ogle. I love reading. I must have been younger when I started reading good material. Must have been a good few years ago...
I can draw like Dali. I think I found him out in Middle School...
I can play piano like ******* Mozart. I picked up piano earlier...
I can write like...
...well, writing is so unique that comparing myslef to anyone is insulting to both.  
Anyway, it's my raw talent, skills that I have owned and honed that drives me to be more.
They say you have to deal with the hand life gave you, but life decided to give me dice, and a couple chance rolls. I may still have a few left. For as long as I live, I will deny and refute the notion that once you lose everything, you should just give up. I have lost. You can talk to me all day about how sad your life is, and how depressed you are, but unless you do something to change your quality of existence, then you're going to roll snake eyes. Snakes bite, friend.
I got a lucky thirteen on my plate. I am content to keep, but I could keep going.
What do you have?