Realist

I’m not a dreamer; I’m a realist.
 
A dreamer believes in a dream without end, while a realist watches the dream crumble before them.
 
Sometimes they destroyed it themselves.
I did this unintentionally by extending myself beyond my means, and now I shall reap what I have sown. 
 
Turn the pillow on the cool side, and don’t wake up until the nightmare becomes bliss filled daydream.
 
This new dream is better than the others; one out of a story book, so good it’ll stomp out the realist in me.
 
What is this dream?
 
A future where money, finances, aren’t a hindrance.  Everything is at my fingertips, and the words I want to say most flow past my lips in a catastrophic wave imprinting messages on the lives of my peers. 
 
However, the realist in me still lives, and like the short life of a morning glory the dream dies. Maybe one day the dream could be an oak tree with life lines abundant.
 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741