To some people I may just be a girl, sitting, typing letters, to form words, to make poetry. The these poem making word forming letters will mean something to someone, somewhere.
Now you may have money, and a good life, you may be living in poverty and are praising the lord for your computer. You may live in New York City, or Zimbabwe, South Africa. But where ever you may be, hear me now, because I need to be heard.
I don't want to be just a girl from Alabama. Every dream you may have, has a chance to be manifested into reality. All you may have is your dreams. The things that you think about right when you're falling asleep, and the first thing to come to mind when waking up. Seeing a smiling face may just be an empty hope, but if it's yours it's worth the world. A dream doesn't have to be huge. It can the smallest of things. But even the smallest of things bring me joy. Not so much because it's mine, but because I know, someone, somewhere, did something to put this object into my hands. Those people have dreams.
A singer trying to make it big goes into a recording studio. The manager of the studio looks her up and down and says "You want a contract." she nods like any other excited new star. She sings for the manager and she is signed. She releases her first album 3 months later. One song on the track turns into a hit and she ends up on a talk show, earning millions within months. Her back up dancer was from a poor home. He was abused by his step father who was drunk constantly. He ran away from home to escape his father. He stumbles upon an open dance studio and the owners take him in. He gets a job dancing back up for this up coming star. He loved to dance and his dreams were coming true. What that singer didn't know, or her back up dancer, was that his drunk step father was her biological father who had left her mother. A dream bringing together parts of a family that were torn apart.
A person will pass you on the street, but what you don't know is that person worked with your now passed grandmother who died of terminal cancer. They worked in a factory making dolls for a toy company that was just getting off the ground. Your grandmother brought home a doll for your 7th birthday. The doll had ruby red lips and tight curly golden locks of hair that were brushed day and night by your small, innocent, pure, childlike hands. Hands untouched by hurt and pain. When you reached the age of 14 your grandmother dies. You mourn with loss. You find that doll she gave you 7 years before and cradle it in your arms like a real baby. That doll was your dream. Later on that year, in school you are given a project to write to a pen-pal in a rural area. You are matched with a girl your age. The two of become friends, exchanging items and letters, telling secrets and helping each other with homework from halfway across the world. You send her a letter which states "This may not be much to you, but I pray it is. It was given to me by my grandmother. She passed a few months ago, and this is all I have left of her." Sent in a box, was the doll. It reached the girl. She stared into the dolls button eyes and began to cry. She reached under her bed for a small box that held a few nic nacs, and other trinkets, but in the middle of the box was a doll. The exact same doll that was sent to her, by you,but this was from her great aunt. Her great aunt was the person you passed on the street. Her great aunt was your grandmother's best friend. Her great aunt, was mourning the same loss you did, and you had no idea.
Everything and everyone is intertwined with each other. Through dreams, or a doll. We all have a voice. We all need to be heard. Factory workers, school girls, farmers, singers, dancers, writers, artists, hopeless romantics, fighters, scene kids, heart throbs, sluts, whores, hipsters, and freaks. WE are all connected.
Now you may have money, and a good life, you may be living in poverty and are praising the lord for your computer. You may live in New York City, or Zimbabwe, South Africa. But where ever you may be, hear me now, because I need to be heard.
I don't want to be just a girl from Alabama. Every dream you may have, has a chance to be manifested into reality. All you may have is your dreams. The things that you think about right when you're falling asleep, and the first thing to come to mind when waking up. Seeing a smiling face may just be an empty hope, but if it's yours it's worth the world. A dream doesn't have to be huge. It can the smallest of things. But even the smallest of things bring me joy. Not so much because it's mine, but because I know, someone, somewhere, did something to put this object into my hands. Those people have dreams.
A singer trying to make it big goes into a recording studio. The manager of the studio looks her up and down and says "You want a contract." she nods like any other excited new star. She sings for the manager and she is signed. She releases her first album 3 months later. One song on the track turns into a hit and she ends up on a talk show, earning millions within months. Her back up dancer was from a poor home. He was abused by his step father who was drunk constantly. He ran away from home to escape his father. He stumbles upon an open dance studio and the owners take him in. He gets a job dancing back up for this up coming star. He loved to dance and his dreams were coming true. What that singer didn't know, or her back up dancer, was that his drunk step father was her biological father who had left her mother. A dream bringing together parts of a family that were torn apart.
A person will pass you on the street, but what you don't know is that person worked with your now passed grandmother who died of terminal cancer. They worked in a factory making dolls for a toy company that was just getting off the ground. Your grandmother brought home a doll for your 7th birthday. The doll had ruby red lips and tight curly golden locks of hair that were brushed day and night by your small, innocent, pure, childlike hands. Hands untouched by hurt and pain. When you reached the age of 14 your grandmother dies. You mourn with loss. You find that doll she gave you 7 years before and cradle it in your arms like a real baby. That doll was your dream. Later on that year, in school you are given a project to write to a pen-pal in a rural area. You are matched with a girl your age. The two of become friends, exchanging items and letters, telling secrets and helping each other with homework from halfway across the world. You send her a letter which states "This may not be much to you, but I pray it is. It was given to me by my grandmother. She passed a few months ago, and this is all I have left of her." Sent in a box, was the doll. It reached the girl. She stared into the dolls button eyes and began to cry. She reached under her bed for a small box that held a few nic nacs, and other trinkets, but in the middle of the box was a doll. The exact same doll that was sent to her, by you,but this was from her great aunt. Her great aunt was the person you passed on the street. Her great aunt was your grandmother's best friend. Her great aunt, was mourning the same loss you did, and you had no idea.
Everything and everyone is intertwined with each other. Through dreams, or a doll. We all have a voice. We all need to be heard. Factory workers, school girls, farmers, singers, dancers, writers, artists, hopeless romantics, fighters, scene kids, heart throbs, sluts, whores, hipsters, and freaks. WE are all connected.
