We all had the grandest, craziest dreams when we were youngest and naivest. But those dreams were quickly crushed by reality. But is it so wrong... to dream? To have a dream of a thousand colors, where I get to be whatever I want to be. Maybe children aren't childish. Maybe they're just grander dreamers than us.
Old you lived. Young I died. Rush o’ child, for life is short. Race to finish lines, and quicken to mature. That be life: competitions and degradations. Play no time, for it’s a waste of your future. And don’t rely, on anyone but your nature. Old is life, sooner you realize the better.
Shut up. Just… shut up.
Maybe, there was another path.
Sure, you lived old, matured quick, lived stable, and careered successful. But what’s the point when it makes your years of childhood neglectful? No extravagance had I, but at least my past is not one regretful. No days I lived where nights were spent in competitions fretful.
You made the world like this and yet you blame me for being so naïve. All I did was enjoy the fun in hell. Though there’s no f’s nor u’s nor n’s in hell.
I don’t care if colored pencils are too childish to use when note taking. I don’t care if drawing won’t pay bills that were forced down my throat like an apple in a thanksgiving turkey. I don’t care if I’m a picky eater when fish smells like flesh rotten in deep sea. I don’t care if I’m unrealistic when you beige everything into conforming to society.
The world’s crumbling anyways. You had pieces while I’ll have crumbles.
You live old and die old. I’ll live young and die young.
I love what you're advocating for here, toast- our lost inner child. I feel like fun is a lot looked down upon as adults, but it's mainly the voices who pride over putting away their joys. Being successful seems like a victory, but your idea seems to battling against the notion with much grace. It's a beautiful lesson, and thank you for saying what a lot of us needed to hear. A stable life doesn't mean a fulfilling one.
As for your first poem, I loved the lines-
I don’t care if I’m unrealistic when you beige everything into conforming to society.
You live old and die old. I’ll live young and die young.
They shine in their unapologetic tone! They're raw, vulnerable, and simply put put, but really impactful. You're rewriting decades of shallow judgements, and it shows.
I wanna be a princess! When I grow up, I want to be a princess! Up in the tower top, Looking out at the view drop, Dressing in clothes that look like movie set prop.
When I grow up, I want to be an astronaut! Reaching up sky high, Exploring nebulous star lights, Bounded by nothing but what’s beyond infinity’s sight.
When I grow up, I want to be the president! I’ll make the world a better place, Meet world leaders face to face, And sign treaties where freedom was made.
When I grow up, I am going to be a lawyer. My mom said so, she planned it out, I debate in clubs to practice my shout, It’s realistic, it’s safe, and it’s what my parents allow.
ahhh toast this one was so good, the shift in the last staza caught me impressively off guard. I can feel the drop in the enthusiastic tone, and the fact that it's just serious and not sad makes it so much more impactful. The narrator has accepted their fate without question- so easily we kill our inner child.
I wanted to be a scientist growing up and had this subtle urge for being a poet in highschool, but finally settled on medicine. What about you?
@AlexWrites honestly, im still not sure what I want to do. I went to college thinking I’d do psychology, but art is my passion, so is teaching, and so I have seriously considered changing majors to something like education. I know it doesnt pay well, but i truly love teaching to the point where i feel like some of those sacrifices are still worth it.
Stellar A kid looks up towards the sky Gazing upon the twinkling stars of quiet night She thinks them beautiful before heading to sleep For tomorrow is a big day to arrive
Her ballet shoes all worn and dirty Replaced with new ones clean and shiny She breaks into them before her performance And twirls and jumps in graceful endurance
Stellar she looks with her body in motion And stunning she is as her eyes show dedication She shines brighter than the rest in competition Her talent brings her far in glamor and admiration
But an injury comes and she’s forced to quit her dancing Ballet was just a hobby she justified as more than something Jobs pay the bills while this was no more than playing Her stellar life was over in an end sultrily blazing
She looks out again to a boundless night sky Her dreams of ballet now dimming with time The stars she considered beautiful are still there But most already died and their past is what remains to flare
Still stars far away keep shining long past their last spark Keeping the deep night bright even in midnight dark Traveling across time even when lightyears apart Stellar still be the lights that once had lit our heart
Mind of an Artist Maybe it’s just me, But that cloud I see, Seems to be staring back at me! Look! Those nostrils have hair galore, And those eyebrows are bushy with lore. Those three streaks are the remains of his locks, And that hole is from where his mouth opens and closes.
When I’m walking down the road, I count the steps I take. The tiles are the same distance all the way, And they alternate in blacks and greys. Start on the black and cross three, To the next black and tiptoe around the greys, As if grey is lava, And black is safe-a. Oh, and avoiding the lines while walking is a must! Otherwise, my mama will need back surgery to readjust.
This shirt needs green crayons and these pants need magenta. It’s a family portrait so I need to meet my quota. A sun in the corner with sunglasses like he’s at the beach, And our family car grey, wibbly wobbly, and rhombus-shaped.
These lego pieces are great and all, But I don’t build to conform. No, I build however my heart desires. These bricks aren’t for making a house with eloquence, They’re for combat in a super duper action sequence!
I am an artist! I draw and observe things others don’t see. Where others see hat, I see snake that ate an elephant. Where others see floor, I see hopscotch on mismatched tiles. Where others see the world, I see the world’s largest canvas. Anything can be art, if you try hard enough.
Note: this poem uses 18+ profanities and contains some sensitive content.
Children Dream more Colorful Dreams
What do you dream of at night? I used to dream of dinosaurs and zombies, Superheroes like movies, And journeys to endless possibilities.
But now? My dreams come back to haunt me. The greyness of it all sometimes dulls me. I just rhymed “me” with “me…” kill me.
I used to be a straight C student who played games where I chased pokémon. Now, I may be straight A, but I’m being chased by the deadlines I’m on.
It’s quite simple really, it’s just that I’m now more mature. But somewhere in my growth, I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself.
I was hot-headed and angered easily, But now I’m calm and collected with a world needed to face. I look back at a feistier version of me, Who threw fists at the slightest frustrations, And I only see immaturity in those childish actions.
But then again, Is it so wrong? Is it so wrong to not care as much about the world? Is it so wrong to be selfish and mad when things don’t go my way? Is it so wrong to want to live a life where I do what I want?
They say ignorance is bliss. And to that I agree.
The world we live in commands; Dictates us to live in certain ways. Rules that I once thought were dumb, Now have me by my neck and choke me till I’m dead.
People say that it’s all part of society, And society’s like a machine, where one wry clog out of place Shuts the whole thing down. But what use is being a cog in the machine, When I see the injustices caused by it?
Oh the horrors! Genocides against people of a different raising, Hate crimes against queers for simply existing, Injustices to others based on racial profiling, Even young me found these stupid.
Young me laughed at absurdities in tragedies, Because he was too dumb to realise their magnitude. Now, I still laugh when I see them on the news, Because powerless am I in the machine producing this fucked up world we’re in.
I sometimes wish I could change it. I draw plans in my head, for a world better than this one. I dream of a world like ones I dreamed of as a kid: Where we play all day, have fun, get some work done to better the world, and play games till curfew. But the wall of reality slams these thoughts shut, And back to cog I be.
If only I was still as dumb, ill-tempered, boundless, and batshit crazy as back then. Alas, I’m a dog with a collar around my head, A slave to the world and its conformity kink.
Unrealistic people say those dreams are. But maybe we’re the ones being unrealistic, For thinking those dreams as dreams.
Children dream more colorful dreams, And even a duller version of them, Can make the world a better place.
