Someday A Requiem

I always dream without rhyme or reason That I become the event of the season, A poet that slams down these lines so quick you can't see 'em, A person who breaks free of the name and the label they're given. But we can't always be the hero we want. Like little boys who stare at astronauts, We may look to the sky, and like what we see, But nothing's ever gonna change the fact that there are certain destinies out there for people like you and like me, who can't face the music or the push of this sea. Who can't seem to find their place on this planet that rotates so fast; instead of 'hero', we're gay or we're fat. But does that really even even matter? In the grand scheme of things, all that tatters. When we look from the outside it never shows the self, It shouldn't matter if you wear glasses, suspenders, or have ears like an elf! Take off your shells, wake up the people! Here is my bell, my door and my steeple! A congregation that yearns for the hearts and so much more than shallow inhibitions and a festering sore of a species that wallows in pity and cares only about flaws. There's a thing out there called God, you know! He knows your downfalls! But he loves you anyway. No matter what you may say. I am me, and I will lay down these rhymes, if not for you then for proof that this time I will lay out my heart for this broken, sorrow world. I will look to a time before it got beaten and curled, crumpled to the dust with all these simple things we're feeling, a place I find has a hefty cost, but no meaning. Which is why I must dream without rhyme and without reason, always achieving to be the event of this season. But, so far as I've looked and so far as I've climbed, I have not found that I care or I mind Whether or not my event is what people around me see, and whether or not I actually give glory to me.