I am writing from a place of youth.
I know that this is a gift that will not stay,
Time is a cruel gust of wind.
So I will say this now:
I have a dream.
I do not know if its marks will still show when I am gray and hunched
But I do have my ambitions.
These verses
These little chapters
They are my lifeline.
My hope rests upon them
Some days they are the only ones keeping my head from the dangerous loop.
I do not know if I will carry the same passion and burning.
Maybe by now the real world has already gotten to me
Replacing my hope with cynical annecdotes.
But please believe me when I say that somewhere, somehow, it is there.
My art.
My lines.
I hope you inherit my stubbornness.
Even if you take nothing from me.
Please.
Take the ability to dream.
And
Persist.
No matter what.
Even if everyone contradicts you (Yes, even me.)
Hold onto it because it is the fine line that seperates us from the savages.
It is your only weapon.
They will throw everything at you.
You will be bruised.
You will be beaten
Spit upon.
Mocked.
But please,
Get up.
Keep getting up.
