cruising

windows down

my roots wandering through the mountain peaks

searching for nothing but

a home in a heart

the road goes on and on

and I wonder how far it’ll take me the next time around,

the next trip around the sun

but for now,

I’m everywhere

and nowhere to be found

traveling without directions because

strength has become my compass

and I’m certain it’ll get me exactly where

it is that I’m meant to be

until then,

you can find me cruising

with a head full of dreams.

for those who have forgotten how to dream

isn’t it sad that as adults we have to learn how to dream again?

when do we lose our innocence and start abandoning hope?

when does it happen, exactly?

is it between 9 and 12? between fairy tales and the first heartbreak? between sleepovers and school dances held in empty gymnasiums that always felt so packed and scary back then?

when do we tell ourselves to buckle up, to settle down?  When do we convince ourselves that misery is just yet another part of life?

when do we switch the “someday I will change the world” for “I just can’t.”?

when the proverbial old shoe drop, does it fall on our heads?

WHY HAVE WE FORGOTTEN HOW TO DREAM?

and why do we keep acting as if love isn’t enough, as if love is an out of this world experience reserved for a few lucky ones, but certainly not us?

why do we grow up and suddenly stop seeing our own light and recognizing our divine and start coveting instead the tiny spark we find in others?

somewhere between the years, between then and now, we abandon our dreams like marbles, letting them roll away as they please.

Some even leave them locked up tight in a drawer in the basement of a home they plan never to return to again.

out of sight, out of mind.

But why do we also forget of all the dreams come true? and when we start losing faith, is that also when we begin to tell ourselves that we’re all alone?

the world needs dreamers.

the world needs those who can find light in its absence, those who see white in black, those who still wish upon a falling start;

the world needs for more of the poor to become rich so that money can turn gratefulness into our currency, peace into the spoken language, and love the only truth we seek.

Do not let anyone convince you that every single desire in your heart cannot be met.

You can have it all.

All you need to do is teach yourself to dream again.

 

 

Head West

Been sharing my secrets with a stranger

leaving my tears behind on a cold, metal chair

my mouth spilling truths never before accepted by my heart

her voice from the other side of the room cutting the air-conditioned silence with the expected, but always comforting that’s amazing, you’re so strong!

and I laugh.

because there’s no strength left in me.

child born in poverty but raised with love,

still feeling all the things I felt then,

except for strength.

wishing I were who I was, past tense

not who I feel like these days-

Tired. Fragile.

Afraid to dream again.

My heart fatigued.

 

The American dream, she begins, is defined by you.

But what if my American Dream has been denied to me? I ask.

Taken from me? I push.

What if it’s nothing more than a fantasy? I challenge her, asserting matter of factly:

Reality is what I have now.

Lentils for dinner cooked in my kitchen in the closet

and still, I can’t even complain because I’m blessed and fortunate to have what I got

and THAT is what the American deam is all about.

These days, anyways.

Head West, they said

Get an education, work hard, and your dreams will come true.

But what if my dreams never even belonged to me?

What if I dreamt wrong for what my heart needs?

No, I don’t need another dream, stranger lady in a suit

No, you see-

What I need is a plan.