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dreams die
not always all at once
sometimes they perish slow
one fragment at a time
piece by piece
dismantled by unending compromise
adulthood is made up of compromise
the things we give away
parts of our very soul
to cross the bridges
to the dark beyond
i embarked on a path
when i was fourteen years old
she wouldn't recognize herself
reflected in my mirror
i changed
because i had to
to survive this world
dreamers who cannot change
will not survive
they wither
and perish
escape into fantasy worlds
induced by drugs
and drinks
and toxic dreams
if a dream cannot truly exist
in the world as it is
it will destroy you
so you mold it like clay
chipping away the idealism
and the beauty
and all that you're left with
is a simple, hollow vase
empty, but honest
tangible and able to be held
it's not a perfect fantasy
not the wonder that first ignited flame
but it's real
and it's yours
and it fits in your hand
About the Creator
Nicole Westerhouse
I'm thirty.
Damn, that hurts to type, but there it is.
Not much of note.
I suppose I should say "yet."
Makes it sound like I'm going places.
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