The floor is made of lava*
It’s a well known childhood fact:
If you want to survive you jump and leap
you do anything to avoid crashing into
the volcanic and scorching stream.
Then as children grow they test their luck
they believe in their invincibility,
and don’t proceed with caution to molten rock
that has the power to make them scream.
As those same dumb and naive children
race onward towards adulthood
they crash down to the magma ground,
they plunge directly into the pain.

Hello!
Welcome! Are you new here? We can tell!
So we'll start slowly, don't worry, you can follow pretty well.
First things first, hand it over, forfeit your idea of freedom
Always be aware that you are in someone else's kingdom.
Second, take this nine to five job! Yes, we know you had other dreams.
No, no! Stop crying, we have no use for those emotions and streams.
Third, don't live from milestone to milestone, live by paychecks instead.
And don't forget about taxes! You'll pay those until you're dead.
Lastly, there are a few minuscule and final things that you must do.
Settle down, get married, have kids, and send them here too.
Isn't adulthood great? Childhood happiness was just a lie!
Wait! One last thing I forgot to mention: You're here until you die.

Are you sorry about yesterday?
Did you note the damage you inflicted
on an already broken being, a girl,
fighting to keep her tears at bay?

Are you sorry about tomorrow?
Will you regret the stupid decisions,
the way you choose to spend your life,
or your actions that will lead to sorrow?

People say the past is the past,
to stop obsessing over every little thing.
I try to tell my mind to stay out of tomorrow
but it wanders and the unknown is vast.

I’m sorry about yesterday,
and all the horrible things I did.
I’m sorry about tomorrow,
and for all the terrible things I’ll say.

A little boy once asked me
why I want to go away tomorrow
because he doesn’t understand
that’s what gets me through today.

To the little boy in the diner,
I’m sure you didn’t notice me, I barely took note of you
but your clear, childish voice traveled
it reached my booth and seized my ears.
You were gabbing on to your parents
(who were more mindful to your stains than your words)
about all the things you want to be when you grow up.
A teacher, a veterinarian, a doctor, a policeman.
Your naive string made me smile, until the commentation flew.
“You don’t want to do that,” the parents promised.
“You’ll change your mind and give up.”
And you were quiet, but I’m sure you shrugged it off
because that’s what children do.

I am still a child, not too much older than you,
but I can’t shrug off people’s doubts of my dreams like you.
Somewhere along my journey towards adulthood
I began to accept that my dreams are unreachable.
Our whole, young lives we’re told to reach for the stars
but gradually we will be told to lower those stars
until they’re within arm’s reach.
Parents like yours and mine will say our goals should be practical
and with our current lifelong dreams we won’t amount to much.
Uncreative adults like this will instill the dull principle in some,
but I hope not you, and I hope not me.
Everyone has to be someone doing something
so why not try for the stars a million miles away?
I want to look up one day and see
those far off stars are dangling just above my head.

And as for you, little boy in the diner,
I hope you do what you want.
Speak words people will hear across nations,
or whisper melodies for only those you treasure to receive.
Perform actions that millions of people will be touched by,
or be one person’s superhero to lift them off the ground.
I hope you go back to that diner someday,
accompanied by your aging parents.
I hope you tell them that you’re successful
I hope you tell them that you're happy.

Sincerely,
the girl in the diner
P.S. I hope you prove them all wrong.