I’m just a boy, who dreams to write,
Writing stories under my bedside table light.
This is my dream; I want it as my future,
There is nothing holding me back, yet I feel the loser.
I’ve been stuck in these manic daydreams,
But this has been me since before my early teens.
People bullied me and tried to tear me down,
Making me out to be the classroom clown.
I feel as if i’m a brainless boy who’s life is so pathetic,
I haven’t got a clue, but still I try, but i’ve learnt i’m not fantastic.
My life is always the post of something else,
But I suppose that depends on how I present myself.
I’d pass colleges with my head down in shame,
with all the things I wanted to learn, i’ve only suffered in vein.
I want to work hard; I want to write about me.
I want to write books that are meant to be.
I need to allow my mind broaden to enlightenment and interpretation,
I’ll not be William Shakespeare; I just want to be someone’s recommendation.
I just want to be me without the frustration.
Confused I’d ask for help, to be told to look up the dictionary,
I didn’t know how to, with words I couldn’t spell, it all became too scary.
While my diagnosis went unnoticed,
My dreams of becoming a writer soon became less focused.
I want to dream big so I ask to take me to that place i’ve never been,
I promise to be less scared and wanting to be heard and seen.
I will learn to love the skies I’m under,
I’ll not be that person that people walk over.
The struggles I faced, the chances i’m now taking,
I may feel knocked down, but this time I’ll not be breaking.
I’ll accept my limits, aim big and maybe I’ll be slow,
I can change, but until I try, I’ll never really know.
I’ll keep trying to come out from the darkness and into the light,
I’ll never give up, I can see my future now in sight.
I’ll not give up; I’m out to be heard,
I will do this and may not win, but I’ll happily come second or third.
I struggle with grammar and I can hardly read, does this mean i’ve a disability?
Big or small, clear or not, the beauty of writing shows such gracility.
I want to succeed but not to be famously known,
I want to write my goals and ambitions proving how much i’ve grown.
I needed to learn the charisma and education,
I didn’t need the worries of my frustration.
It’s small, yet powerful; i’m not psychotic,
I’m just a boy who is dyslexic.
I’m not normal but who is?
I’m certainly not perfect; does it even exist?
I was once given a quote that keeps me strong through the rough
“I may not be normal or perfect, however i’m just a boy who is good enough”
– James Keenan