As a child we bounce from thing to thing,
guided by sudden whims
But somewhere along the way it changes,
we no longer take chances
No longer care less what people see,
No longer believe,
in our dreams.
Instead we watch others, try to fit in,
to build comfort zones like invisible walls.
Our dreams become grey.
Insidious acceptance of the status quo
because now for sure we know,
that dreams are impossible.
Meanwhile our lives tick away,
“I wish I had….” ‘Why didn’t I…” the voice calls
because in here it’s comfortable
“And anyway, it’s too late….”
so the child retreats inside,
under a cloak of adulthood, grown-up-ness, excuses.
Is it too big a step to take?
To let the child throw off the cloak, step outside,
The comfort zone is like a comfy chair,
it’ll still be there,
have its uses
when you tire, but you’ll never know what’s outside
if you don’t at least say you tried.