crystal trail
My dream for the future?
A question they’ve asked me, again and again.
I reply with the answer I’ve rehearsed:
“I’ll study this,
I’ll work there.”
A neat little package of purpose,
wrapped in what they expect to hear.
But truthfully, I don’t know what a dream is,
or what a future looks like.
My sight stops short of the horizon,
a blur of expectations I never chose.
To live up to what society demands,
perhaps that is my dream,
or the one I’ve borrowed.
Not because I want it,
but because what I want is nowhere to be found.
A partner, a stable job, marriage,
children laughing in a house filled with light.
These are the promises whispered in my ear,
the purpose I am told to seek,
the goals etched into my path.
But none of it feels real.
None of it feels like mine.
Life isn’t a fairytale.
For most, it is a manual.
Strict, unyielding, unchanging.
A system we enter without question,
following its chapters one by one.
In elementary school, they tell you:
“Study hard, or your dreams will slip away.”
In middle school, they remind you:
“High school is harder. Prepare yourself.”
In high school, they warn:
“Do your best. You wouldn’t want
to end up at a place without prestige.”
And in college,
they take your sleep, your time,
all your gentle edges,
and tell you it is for something greater.
Something worth the sacrifice.
Finally, at the job you were promised,
you trade your hours for survival.
Eight hours a day, ripping through your conscience,
as the cycle repeats endlessly,
a life spent in service,
of a society that barely notices your existence.
plush grotto
so very relatable
dusty hill