"Do you believe in your dreams and aspirations?" I whispered to myself.
Looking at the grey dull sky, I sigh.
"I don't, I can't believe in them"

Round and round my mind goes,
Infiltrating my deepest and finding answers yet here it is.
Avoiding the question that runs kilometers in my heart.
The question that travels the end of me and back.

"Don't I believe in my future?"

I do, I'd like to believe so.
But my dreams fight my heart, breaking through my ribcage. Searching for my mind. Because it's the logical one. It should tell me my dreams. It should lead me in the right direction.

Are my dreams my own,  or are they the subliminal message the world throws at us.
That being making a difference, generating money that never ends.
Or a white picket fence with a family.

Now tell me. My first love was known to be art.
The oil, the fuel that drove my creativity and told me that I had no limits. That told me that I could go above any substantial pedestal.
But they told me not to, that I can't love it the way I should. Which hurt. Broke me until I found sports

But the deafening injuries it set to my body forces me to create a never ending strain. Pain that could never be released and healed if I don't stop.

But just because I loved them, made me wonder if they were my dreams.
Would I really spend the rest of my life on them.
The world tells you to make money out of your hobbies.
But aren't we just following the cycle of follow your dreams which is money?

"Do you believe in your dreams and aspirations?"

I don't know what to believe in.
Somebody tell me what my dreams are?

Because in the end, we are told that success is money.
And money is success.

Does this make money my dream?