There are dreams I’ve folded, tucked away tight,
Like old forgotten clothes, out of mind, out of sight.
One dream is my family, proud, happy, and strong,
But in truth, they’re splintered, fighting who’s right, who’s wrong.

Another was of healing, of wearing a vet’s coat,
Or moving the masses with the words that I wrote.
Helping the helpless, animals small and in need,
A life lived in service, a world I could lead.

I dreamt of a wedding, a dress pure as snow,
Walking the aisle, to see your smile’s glow.
I dreamt of a farm, vast and self-sustained,
With crops that thrive and animals well-trained.

But the dream I can’t fold, the one that won’t fade,
Is the thought of a child, a love never swayed.
It’s wrapping gifts from “Santa” late Christmas Eve,
It’s seeing you hold them, as they sleep and believe.

It’s watching them grow, teaching what’s right,
Helping them learn from what keeps them up at night.
This dream, I hold close, though I dare not say,
It lingers with me, every step, every day.

I don’t ask for this dream, nor expect it to be,
But it clings to my heart, a part of me.
Folded, yet vivid, it whispers, not yet,
For some dreams stay alive, though they’re placed in regret.

Boxes became my constant companions,
each house a temporary heartbeat.
I built homes with one hand holding a child,
the other gripping resilience.

At nineteen, I became a mother,
a title that shook the stars—
barely an adult, but now a world-builder,
my dreams reshaped by tiny hands.

I was not made to be quieted,
nor to shrink into the spaces they expect.
I am the storm,
the fire within,
learning to rise with each breath.

In the quiet, I find my power—
it is mine, not given,
crafted through pain, through growth,
and the wisdom that comes from standing tall alone.
I don’t need their validation—
I am whole,
I am enough.