I am an idealist
This is not ideal
In a world where things are seen
From a perspective dubbed "real"
Is there no one else who still holds visions of youthful glee?
Is there no one else who dreams, but me?
Well false to this I say,
For the only things real thus far in my day
Are the coffee in my mug, the dirt stain on my shoe, and the walls at which I am staring from this bathroom stall too
But none too real do I ever find
The complaints of the daily political grind
Yes I too can fear, I'm not an idiot, I said idealist
Maybe learn to read before you start to preach
But why can't I, for once deny the notion that anything ideal is laughably surreal?
And if I'm wrong, so be it
I'll believe it when I see it
At least I can find comfort in my dreams
much like the comfort I find exploring my mind from the edges of this toilet seat
Carry on as you wish, I have my own beat