I have so many dreams in my life, it’s like no one knows who I am.

There’s a mask over my face, and I’m as weak as a baby lamb.

I write roaring, fragile words hoping that no one sees them.

I live, breath, write by the pain-screeching noise of my drum.  

It has no other ear to hear it except for me.

When I look into the mirror I do not be-

Live what I see; because there is just thin air.

Wanting to be something more’s my prayer.

My dreams are in the stars, not dust.

Because I know that it will rust.

These poems are strength to give wings.

After winter there’s spring.

Fall a thousand times.

Make this your prime.

Happiness

Is worth

it.