I was quiet
I would not speak,
I thought that no one would remember me,
Me and my little idiosyncrasies.

If you’re quiet,
then who will care to listen—
To look and to see.

But I wrote down,
On a scrap of paper,
My hopes and my dreams.

And the things that make me,

I drew a picture
And wrote my story—
My hopes and my dreams
My wants
And my needs.

In ten years
No one will remember the words that I said
But they will never forget the words that I wrote,
The drawings that I drew,
And the music that I made

Don’t you see?
One can dream
One can hope
One can love
One can hate
Yet these all fade
But what stays
Is what we make

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