Dear diary

Dear diary,
time swings by,
the seasons are changing,
and so am I:
I'm not the child I used to be.
The child is buried deeply on me...

I've confessed you my sincere emotions,
my secrets, my lies, my faults,
and, altough I forgot to write,
that doens't mean that I don't like,
but the child,
the child I was is still inside me,
covered by fear and doubt:
She refuses to go out,
she's afraid of the dark.

How can't I blame her?
In a world like this,
people destroy their child,
forget what it's like to dream,
to seek for a way to change things
and built a world with these tools.

People, they don't understand,
the child it's what makes them into a man,
or a woman,
the dreams, the surreal ideas,
these are what makes us unique,
and not another robot.

My child is alive,
Hidden, but alive,
She's trying to lose the fear,
And come into the light.

Only then, my friend,
will I be happy:
When my child comes out from under the bed
to dream, to put her voice out on the street,
to fight and create some light
to iluminate the world.

I don't care how little it will shine,
as long as someone sees it,
for me, that's just fine.