The world isn’t good
like you expected it to be.
You draw your dream on paper
but time erases it.
Remember when you were a child,
jumping on your bed?
When you were in school
playing with your friends?
When you ran to the window,
reaching your hand out to feel the rain?
When you and your cousins
threw rotten fruit at each other
in your grandmother’s yard?
When you listened to her stories before sleeping?
When you made up scary stories
for your cousins, to frighten them? 
When you were in college
studying hard to achieve your dreams,
Or with friends in a café
talking about the future,
Or celebrating your graduation day
when your dreams reached the sky?  

“But why is this life so hard, testing me? 
Please, Lord, give me release.
I am so used to darkness
that now the light hurts my eyes.
The pain refuses to leave me
and I smell my own fear with every breath.” 

Dear little boy who I still am,
who wants life, wants to travel. 
It is not too much to ask:
“Am I wrong for this world,
or is this world wrong for me?”