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October 15, 1999
Do you know that I can't say anything without being abstract?
I know that when I share,
people listen,
but they don't understand.
And they view all I'm feeling from a totally different window.
I don't want to be sad.
I don't like it.
It's not my nature and it's certainly not my style.
I don't want to write sad poems.
I don't like it.
I'd rather be contemplative and positive and make people smile.
I don't mind not having answers,
but I hate having questions,
which will make no sense to you,
unless you stop and ask yourself what I mean.
I have goals,
but I don't have dreams today.
Partly because I've already achieved the ones I cherished and constructed as a little child.
I've never been a dreamless creature,
and it's such a scary thing.
But I just can't bring myself to constructing new ones...
I can't handle having hope, then being wrong again
my heart can't bare more deception,
my head can't bare more denial,
and my spirit is still stumbling around in dark closets trying to regain pieces of it sold.
I sold my spirit and my trust and my heart and
my precious dreams for nothing more than
broken promises that once seemed so sweet and believable.
Promises that still seem sweet and believable.
Promises that I still believe.
Promises that I set my biggest, most treasured dreams on,
but willingly-
I knew the chance I was taking.
But I had faith that it would be worth it,
I had faith that it was right,
and I gathered up all the rags of trust I had left,
I sacrificed them with a whole heart and lively hope that this was right.
So the scary thing is,
I have nothing left to give,
not even to myself,
even when I search.
The scary thing is,
I've never hurt like this,
and it was a choice I made.
The scary thing is,
I can't find much beauty
in the things I used to see
outside my window
or myself.
The scariest thing is,
I still think it's right.
I still gather up the rags,
these ones are made of hope I have left,
cause there's barely enough trust to constitute a thread,
and I'm still sacrificing them one by one
to my belief that my dream is God's dream too.
I keep starring and clinging to the window,
straining to see someone
who just isn't showing up.
I know it seems foolish...
but you have to understand:
It's the last dream I have,
because I sacrificed all I have to it,
and if it dies,
if I've been wrong,
if this game is one I simply cannot win,
then I've nothing left to offer
to the construction of new dreams.
And that's so sad...
because I used to be something that was special and sweet,
and my soul made me beautiful back then.

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