What is it like to see the world through your eyes? to actually live in the world the way you do?
I ask you, green beret and swat, about your experience of fear, and we are so different you don't even understand my question. "It's not brave to jump out of planes if you aren't afraid of it," you say.
(A small voice inside me asks does that make me brave? Because I am afraid all the time, or is it only what you accomplish in spite of being afraid that counts as bravery?)
You face the world head on walk through heaven and hell, air and water part for you and you know that they will.
What is it like to own the world like that, to see the world and not be afraid?
This poem is about a friend of mine. "Lucky" is also about him. Some poems are so personal, I think they will never be done. Eventually some of these, I just decide to post.
I want you to know something. It's okay to ask for help. It's not embarrassing; it's brave To admit you don't know something And want to change. I ask that you don't worry That people will think less of you If you do. You're trying to learn. And that's something you should Never apologize for
You don't have to be the perfect puzzle piece You can be the one that doesn't fit Into societies roles, you don't submit The one that stands out from the bland crowd Do things your way and be proud Amongst the thunderstorms, you can be the cute fluffy cloud Amongst the frowns, you be the smile Do things in your own style Go at your own pace, it might take a while ~15/4/21