When I was born, I was a peach.
When I was three, I was a sweetie.
When I was six, I was a jelly bean.
When I was nine I was an angel.
Now I'm thirteen and faced with life.
"What do you want to be?" they ask.
"I am what I want to be. I am a dreamer."
I wish i could say, but they would laugh.
So I just shrug and listen to the lecture they give,
All the while dreaming.
I don't dream of money or fame.
Or of school or sports.
I dream of love,
of music,
of laughter and dance.
I dream of a beginning,
Of a middle and end.
I write down my dreams,
on paper or the web
Sometimes on my skin.
But they don't like my dreams,
they tell me to stop.
The paper gets torn,
the websites bannes,
and the skin washed.