Dreams + Tragedy

Stand up for me
Breathe with me
Now let’s try to say ‘Ohm” instead of exhaling
1-2 / 1-2
This sound is special
It’s neither positive nor negative
It’s like us
A mixture of dreams and tragedy

This is a poem about dreams and tragedy
When I hear in the news
That a 16 year old found a cure for cancer, I’m happy for humanity but I’m mainly wondering what the fuck I am achieving at 26?
When I hear a 13 year old started his own company and sold it to Google, I’m like fuck ! It’s over for me. I’m 26, Google will never buy my company
When I hear an 8 year old sing and break dance on The Voice, I’m like that’s ok. I never wanted to dance and sing on stage anyway. But then I wonder. Maybe my parents killed my dream in the egg when I was a kid. I could’ve been Carmen Miranda!

This is a poem about dreams and tragedy
Why don’t I change the world today? Why not today? Why don’t I leave my job and start a billion dollar business? I’m going to start a blog, it’s going to be huge, people will like it on Facebook, they will knock on my door at night, pull me out of my bed and carry me on their shoulders. They will hold me up and dragons will come and shower me in their fire. My flaming robe will shout to the world I am the son of Lady Daenerys.
But … What if no one likes my page, what if they laugh at my poems, what if the dragons burn my skin, what if I end up alone without sex behind my screen eating feijao and cold mandioca.

This is a poem about dreams and tragedy
Anxiety is not a modern invention. Here is a survey. Who here has ever dreamed of spending some time in prison to figure things out? Ok. What about some long sabbatical somewhere lost in the mountains or the forest? Anxiety is the daughter of choice. Choice is the son of freedom. We might love to be free. But sometimes, just for a while, we don’t want to have to choose. Just for a while. The more free you are, the more you can choose and the more wrong you can be. My sisters, my brothers.
It’s ok
You don’t have to change the world today

This is a poem about dreams and tragedy
But what if I never change the world?
What if I leave in silence without a trace?
What if no one remembers what I did?
Breathe with me
Here is a story. In the 1st Harry Potter, Harry is staring at the magic mirror and sees the philosopher’s stone land in his pocket though Voldemort never succeeds in acquiring it, however much he stares at the mirror. Later, after Harry defeats the evil lord, Dumbledore explains what he created: A mirror that gives the stone to those who want it but not to own it. The only difference between Harry and Voldemort.
Those who want it but not to own it. This is life for you. Want it. Don’t try to own it. And head every day to bed with a smile and a plan. The world is doing well. As long as you smile and plan. Breathe with me.
We’re here to breathe