My teacher once asked
a short simple question.
She had asked,
"What do you want to be?"
Raised arms answered her query.
Open palms each belonging to excitable children.

Wide little eyes looked up at her.
Hands began to flail in the air...
Ever so hopeful of being chosen.
So that they could voice their aspirations.
So that they could begin to share.

One by one,
they each was given the opportunity.
Turn by turn,
boastful were some
while others spoke quiet and shyly.

Then the teacher stopped short.
Not before expressing her delight.
She was in awe of such young minds...
Having had such great wings
to eventually take flight.

Then she explained...
What she had initially meant.
Confused looks all around including me.
She rephrased the question,
"What kind of person...
Do you want to be?"

There was silence.
No arms shot up to meet the subject.
I don't recall having raised mine,
but I remember telling the teacher...
An answer (I was confident), she wouldn't expect.

I stood at my desk,
proud and tall...
And told the teacher
that I wished to be a person...
Well loved by all.

She smiled and I did too.
I felt it was a good answer.
She nodded to signal for me to take my seat again.
She paused before speaking,
and not a moment later.

She said,
"That would be nice.
To be loved by all.
But that's close to impossible.
A big wish for someone so small."

I had heard her words clearly...
However I didn't understand.
My brows furrowed...
And I was deep in thought...
Still I couldn't comprehend.

28 years later...
Here I sit,
looking back to that time in the past.
How time flies...
It simply ticked away...
All too fast.

Till just then I was still that boy...
Who tried hard to please.
I wanted to prove that it wasn't impossible.
You can be loved by everyone,
and you can do it with ease.

But now I have learnt.
Now I have found meaning
and understanding in my teacher's wisdom.
It took me a while but...
I know now...
That wishes and reality don't work in tandem.

You can choose to care and love,
everyone you see.
But to expect everyone to love you the same...
Is sheer
impossibility.

Commit ****** then flip an ounce, a nonchalant verse that promotes the internal joust, with
pride earned as the only badge that counts.

Tap the snare drum for a bar, or vibing melody,
our backwards society stereotypes "thugs" as, "what drugs are they selling me?"

Rap is art in raw form,
intended to excite the youth who see death as a norm, the daily street storm.

Women de-humanized for a buck,
men taught to only treat them good if they **** and don't run out of luck.

The concrete jungles can only have just one king upon a throne, as the vicious cyclone continues destroying futures of the youth unless they succeed in the booth.

Youth commit ****** then flip an ounce,
pride earned needs to be denounced.

The prancing sheep evade my mind and eat upon greener pastures.

I squirm and wince at every thought that repetitively repeats, "just go to sleep", while tracing back the day's steps and weighing the factors.

Why must my mind be so out of sync with the tune of my body?

The wise would advise physical exhaustion is not sufficient ammo to defend against morphing into a groggy zombie.

Insomnia? No...I can have a good night, windows open and naturally closed eyes.

Anxiety? No...my life is too right, for me to not realize this sleep is just something I idiotically idolize.

Change? Yes...I can grow and stow away any thoughts which summon the riot, organize the files and endless waiting miles.

Minutes to hours, hours to frustration,
all until a simple revelation, I've had singular control of the entire situation.

Through meditation, finally free of this voluntary probation.

For no longer do I fear my head touching those precious feathers, and no longer wince at the warm and fleece-ridden wrapping like tethers.

I can now dim the blinding internal light, and tear from the controlling reigns that started this nightly pillow fight.