A coloring book in my head, all hollow images -
waiting for some splashes of green or some splashes of blue.
When i was little, my mind was consumed
images of writing and dancing, none of which I could do.
But when you're little, any dream was bound to come true.
To master such things,
one has to learn, read a book, watch a video,
anything concerned.
With the dreams at hand, there were no plans,
I'd write everyday and prance around my room,
even if i was way out of the groove.
To this day, I write a tad sloppy,
I'm not a ballerina,
It never bothers me.