One day I'll see the world,
Have dust on my feet
From a thousand different lands.

I'll travel with dusty feet,
Musty books,
Camera in hand,
Adventure beckoning me on.

Maybe I'll have no home,
I'll be a wanderer-
Maybe we need more gypsies-
Maybe I'll have
Barely a penny to my name.
I'll spend it all on plane tickets,
I'll earn my roof and food
By telling stories,
Penning poems.

Maybe when I'm an old lady,
People will tell stories
Of the crazy girl
Who came from a town so small
She had to travel the world
To find out more
About who she was.

Maybe people will be talking
Before I've even left,
About the crazy girl
With crazy dreams
Who's going to do crazy things
And change a crazy world.

But being called crazy
Is a small price to pay
To do things no one's done.

It just means I realize
The stars aren't so far away
If you know how to believe.

It just means
I'll have stardust
On my feet
From a thousand different suns.

Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.

Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.

The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.

The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.

All flexing builds muscle.

Rough bricks form castles.

Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring

Too much
To keep painting.

Baby, baby,
I sing you a lullaby
A small something
To say goodbye
Baby, baby
Close your eyes
On everything
And let me apologise
Baby, baby
For the days that go by
And nothing
Brings me back where you lie.

Can you ever be angry,
Pest and rebel and still,
Look back into what you fear,
But adore all the more.
Detest, and deplore a fate,
And wish it would be yours still
To love and cherish,
Like a baby in a womb.
To those wild, untamed fingers,
To those unborn smiles,
And to your endless patience
To wait for them.