In Exhange For A Dream

I cry.
So what?
Just cause all you other fellas have overdeveloped into emotionless, apathic vegetables that don't care about nothing. You don't care cause it's easier that way. Easier to tell yourself what you just saw on TV isn't real, it's fake, just horror stories, all for entertainment.
But I watch TV, and see some kid being heartbroken cause someone failed a promise to him, a promise to take him out of his situation, taking him out of being a child soldier.
And you know what? That someone, that what's-his-name, goes home, flies all the way back to America, and does what?
He drinks.
Drowns all his pain in booze.
I'm watching all this and I cry. Can't help it, the tears just come, they're just flowing down my cheeks like the river Kwai. And it's not because of that someone. Not because he was too busy obeying orders and drowning his poor judgeless self in liqour.
It's because of that kid.
I don't even like kids.
What is it then? What is it that is getting to me, getting to the Poet, too emotional, too caring for her own good? Too goddamn emo?
Well. It's the way his eyes fade and die. The way that tiny little flare of hope just flickers, and goes out, and that dawning comprehension sweeps in over his face. That he was just being used for better purposes. That most people don't know what a promise is. Don't know what a promise is worth.
He was, just... all he wanted, was to get out. Far out. That's all he wanted. That was his dream.
And they don't even tell him.
They throw him a couple of dollar bills for payment.
Dollars.
In exchange for a dream.
It's absurd.
The flare goes out in his eyes, and is replaced by another flare. Flare of hatred. Flare of heartbreaking disappointment. The image of that kid, just going wild, sobbing and screaming with his little broken and undignified voice, it just burnt into the inside of my eyelids, and I can't see anything but it.
I can't sleep.
He doesn't ask if that someone had lied.
He simply states it.
Sobbing... and screaming. Even though his voice is more like a whisper:
"You lied! You promised! You lied to me! You lied! Why did you lie? I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!"
And I cry.
That's what's the world like. All the time.
Grown-up people take away the young people's dreams.
When I was little, everyone loved what I wrote. Everyone thought I was a gifted child, wanted to see what I had written that day, everyone was curious, they encouraged me.
And when it was about time to start and become a little responsible in life, they took it away from me.
They took away my dream.
I don't wanna be like that little kid.
I don't wanna be deserted.
Left alone.
Without hopes, without faith, only tears, and anger, and hate.
Most of all I can't stop thinking about that kid.
That someone has nurtured his hatred for another solid decade.
And he's still there. Still out there. Left in the world, no one to care, no one to take him away.
I cry.
So what?
Just cause all you other fellas don't dare to.