For Myself Poem by A Waltz For Zizi

They look at you and see
great fires, your dreams.
And it scares them. They are
ordinary. All of them.
They are not like you.
They are cowards. Cliches.

And you could be so far ahead
of them, if you would only
wake up in the morning,
and pour your heart in those fires,
fed them with your time,
with the contents of your soul.

So what if you burn,
if you are alone?
The sky will welcome you.
The wind will still touch you.
As for them, the cliches,
let them be frightened of you.