Reaching For My Dreams

Reaching.
Touching.
Hopeing.
Searching.

I want to fling my arms out and yell for the world to do its worst. To hurt me in every possible way. It tries so hard to do that. But at the same time I fiind myself hoping for the best.

But everytime my body gains enough of the courage it needs to stand and yell, to cry out for what I want, some major event crashes across me. It dashes my hopes and dreams for this this life.

And I must begin again. Begin again out of the mist of yesterday. Of my childhood, that was too small. Too short, too quickly over. My adolesence has been rocky and stormy. Rocky like a winter storm on the sea. And it crashes against the rocks. It smears my hopes into nothing on the rocks of the ocean. My poor lonely broken dreams.

In the water, the salt burns and stings my already chapped and broken dreams. The salt hurts. It feels like sandpaper against an already open wound. It burns the wound, causing me more pain. And I cry for my lost dreams. It hurts to speak those lost dreams. And it pains me to dream of new ones when I know that they too will be broken, abused, and smeared soon after I finish to dream them. To let go and say goodbye and start a-new hurts.

Goodbye to my Childhood.
Goodbye to my Dreams.
Goodbye to my Happiness.
Goodbye to my Yesterday.

But I will hope still.
Hope for Tomorrow.