I dream a world where hunger-
A forgotten feeling guessed.
Where insides never rumble,
All the frigid bodies dressed.
I dream a world with Love
Tattooed across our open eyes.
With fingers locking one another
Until we’ve reached the skies.
When money keeps us warm,
As it lights the fire place.
And mouths in key of Kumbaya
While it burns without a trace.
With Hate removed from language  
As we teach the boys and girls
That every color of the rainbow shines-
Of such a dream, my world.

She tells me not to talk about my life
true poets write of other things, she says
then reads a poem about her marriage, husband

I'm reminded of Sylvia Plath's struggles
how she would not have followed such advice
or else not become the icon that she is

besides, as Langston Hughes said
' No great poet should ever be afraid of being himself'
or something like ( replace that with 'herself')

& does not a life contain universal topics
that ties us all together in one universe
so all I say is write, write what you know

The instructor said,
    Go home and write
    a page tonight.
    And let that page come out of you—
    Then, it will be true.
I wonder if life could really be that simple?
I am twenty, confused, and clinically depressed
I went to therapy, then to inpatient, and now I’m home
to this house that I’ve known since birth,
Depression is not the only thing I feel, so it is not all of me.
But the path down this road has been long, and dark,
Going up hills and making turns, that got me lost sometimes,
But I’m starting to see the light of day,
Everything happens for a reason they say.
My journey isn’t over yet, but I’ll tell you what I’ve learned:

I’m not easy to understand, but nobody is,
at twenty, my age. But I know I am not  just what
I feel and see and hear. Instead I am also  what
I think, and say, and do. Aren’t we all?
The things that define me, aren’t only in my head.
They can be read, and heard, and seen,
My words spoken out loud, or written down are
The decisions I make, such as letting go, or fighting;
Telling a truth, or a lie;  giving, or taking
I guess having depression doesn’t make me a good or bad person
Despite my disorder, I make ordinary choices.
So will my definition of me be alright,
Even if it means, I’m not always delighted to be here.
But I will be here
Just like you are, instructor.
You might be happy with life---
Yet you have your troubles, just as I have mine.
That’s human.
Perhaps you don’t want to be a part of some sad occasions,
Nor do I often want to be a part of them either.
But we are, and that’s life!
As I learn from my mistakes and hard times,
I guess you learn from yours—
although you’re older—and wiser—
and I have less life experience than you.