When I was young, they would look at me and say
"Who ever heard of a kid
With his feet in the clouds
And his head so far away you don't even know
Where to look for it?"
They saw that crazy energy in my heart
And those weird ideas in my head
And they looked at me and said
"A kid like that
Could never succeed in school
Because he's too wrapped up in imagination."
So I decided they were wrong
And I poured my soul into it
And when I had something I felt I could be proud of
I brought it forward
And they looked at that perfect test and said
"Whoever heard of a kid
So proud of some story he wrote
For some silly exam
That he wanted to show off?"
They saw my happiness
Over this thing they thiught so trivial
And they laughed
And they said
"A kid like that is proud of all
The wrong things in life
He still doesn't have his feet on the ground
He's still too crazy."
And so I, determined to be what I thought I should
Looked at myself
And took stock of the things they
Thought were silly
And I put them in a little wooden box
With a little iron lock
And little black letters on top that read
"A kid"
And I marched off to be something that
They had led me to believe
Was better.
When I got there and started to toil
To pour ny heart and soul
And all that I could into this work
They looked and me and said
"How can some teenager
Ever work this hard
Without stopping
To be a kid?"
And they sneered at me and pointed and said
"There must be something wrong with him."
So I took a few things
Out of my box
Being sure to lock it again
And when they saw these new old things
And watched me using them
They scowled, and shot me distateful
Looks
And they turned to each other and said
"He just wants to have fun
How is that going to help him?
He ought to act more
Mature."
And I, now at my wits end
Broke my back and sacrificed sleep
For coffee and textbooks
I, now at my wits end
Sacrificed long summer nights for hours
Spent staring at a screen
Straining my lifeless eyes
To work when I should have been playing.
And I returned to them
With all my achievments in hand
All my worldly work
And they looked down at the pile
And they said
"Shouldn't you try to have fun?"
And finally I lifted my headAnd I looked at them and at their
Bitter looks
Hollow eyes
Their tight mouths
And unhappy, looming brows
And I asked myself
"Why do I want to be
What they say I should?
Where did it ever get them?"
And I dropped my things and ran home
And prayed I was not too late
I pulled out my little wooden box
With the little iron lock
And the black letters that read
"A kid"
And I picked up the things inside
And gathered them out away from the box
And back into me
When I was done there was a little part of my soul
Where there had once been a hole
And in little black letters across the front
It read
"A kid"
And I smiled once more
Now wholy sure
That I could always, in some way be
A kid
