I’ve heard it said I should be glad of life.
Sometimes I can’t see the beauty, I can’t hear the music.
I’m listening, listening trying still to find out who I’m meant to be.
The music, it plays so faintly–I scarcely hear it now.
My body moves, the words from heart and mind through fingertips, but I can’t hear the music,
not when this world is blaring around me,
not with this chaos surrounding the hidden-me.
The weight of this life makes me cry and I can’t hold the pain inside without you holding me.
I’m desperate, I’m wild, I want to move freely but what can’t I learn is that I can’t be found in you, nor you in me–
surviving this will be the breaking of me.
Let the children dance.
Let the children sing.
Let the children dream.
Let them find beauty and be who they’re meant to be.
Don’t sentence them to silence and expect them to live free because to be whole they must one day be re-broken.
to dance and sing, to write, and to love, that would be a beautiful thing