I have a habit of making dreams a reality
I've been accused of being a wishful thinker
Just another unrealistic dreamer in a brutally realistic world
I've been told that all my thoughts were
nothing but flights of fancy
That my naivety is what blinds me
And unfortunately they can't see all the things that made me
The struggles, the hustles, the fights for what I thought was right
I have faced the depths of despair
I've been broken beyond repair
I bear the scars of wounds left over
running from a home that was not a home
Trapped in a hell where I would rather choose the pain of being lonely and alone
than go back to that false sanctuary I was forced to call home
I have faced the marginalization of who I was as a person
I braved the confrontations between the cultures I claimed
And struggled to reconcile that which threatened to leave my identity maimed
And from the flames of that fire I created a person whom I could embrace
Despite all the set backs I've faced, I was triumphant
I succeed where others fail
I conquered where my doubters fell
When the naysayers and those whom passed judgement would judge me
A no good, worthless, nameless face
Who would amount to absolutely
I became the exact opposite of what I was going to be:
Something.
What all those people don't know
What they cannot see
Is that all those dreams I dream
Though they may appear far, they are in reach
The fruit from the tree does not hang low
You must climb up to reap what you sow
And even if you fall you get up and climb again
Because what else will you do before your time ends?
To be something means to do something
To dream is to think
To act is to make it reality
All I wanted was to breathe
To be free from the pain that imprisoned me
All it took was a step out that door
Off that rock, far away from that shore
I snatched that dream because it stood in place
I reach for stars even though they're up in space
Because they're so much closer than we thought
I made one dream come true
and once I knew, I could not stop
If one came true then what is to say of the others that had not?
For each dream I reached, I held another star
Each one thought to be too distant, too far
But there they were, once above now beneath my feet
Not cold and dead, but warm and breathing
Clutched to my chest are my dreams made real
Warming my soul, telling my hear that it isn't made of steel
Each dream I have is in reach
All I must do is extend my hand
So given the choice, why would I look up and idly stand?
