Daydreamers 

The Aftermath of New York: A Simple Poem

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 We are the daydreamers.

A story kept in the pages of freshly printed books with glossy paper.

Protected from the brutal winds of the world while we are young

Given fairytales to drink like sweet tea

But told only to sip, not to swallow.


We are the daydreamers

Kicked out of our cloud castles when our fairy godmothers made holes in the pillowy, white safety nets we thought were our floors,

Scolded us,

Engraved, “G R O W  U P !” into the soft flesh of our delicate hearts,

And watched as we fell,

Landing face first onto a cement reality.
We are the daydreamers

Who still have hope for this miserable world.

The ones who think the sun smiles as it rises.

The ones who think skin is like silk 

And that true love exists outside of the fairytales we were raised upon.

The ones who get by on merely slivers of faith,

Like maybe Peter Pan really does wait patiently on the other side of some golden gate.
We are the daydreamers

But we have grown to accept our fates

Just as we have accepted the bitter taste

Of coffee at 5am.