The Only Exception...

Here's To The Ones Like Me

To the ones who live in the clouds,
The ones who speak so little.
Who's inner self is cranked up loud,
And who's focus quickly drifts away.

To those who long for adventure,
The ones who know there's more,
Who's daily moods depend on the weather,
And who's midnight dreams don't slip away.

To the ones who're made to work with their hands,
The ones who have a passion for art,
Who began as a novice with one box of crayons,
And who've gone out in public covered in paint.

To the ones who're considered antisocial,
To those who have their own library.
Who know's that each book is it's very own portal,
And who can travel in time just by turning a page.

To the ones who can never decide,
The ones unable to stick to the plan,
Who find it a struggle to show up on time,
And who's spontaneous tendencies get in the way.

To the ones who think too much,
To those who's mind is the enemy.
Who always doubts all offered love,
And who always runs when they want to stay.

To the ones who're hopeless romantics,
To those who dream of forever.
Who long to finish with a love that lasted,
And who hope to have a family one day.

To the ones who're just like me,
To those here and there,
And those somewhere in between,

To all the ones who aren't black and white,
To those not in or behind, but who painted the scenes,
Who color inside their own hand-drawn lines,

I dedicate this poem to you.
To all the art majors,
To all the broke painters.
To all the novelists,
To all the poets,
To all the day dreamers,
And to all the deep thinkers.

I write this poem for you
Because we know what art can do.
The world is our studio,
Our lives are our canvas.
And the things we create
Tell the story of who we are,
And when we're gone and faded away,
The things we've written and the things we've made,
Will still exist, and still remain,
And maybe there will come a day,
That our works inspire this world to change.