dreamers

my parents may not know it but they’ve raised dreamers. I like to think we’ve never given up, but I know we have. at the crack of dawn when my younger brother wakes up, dribbling a basketball in the same hands he’s molded as a pair of gloves. my older brother miles away in a small college town, his phone seems to always be on do not disturb. in the depths of the night when it hurts too much to write anymore. people don’t see the dream, successes are the only things showcased. on small town newspapers, black and white photos etched of our smiling faces. the callouses on my brothers hands never shown. the dark circles from my sleepless nights always hidden. the self deprecating jokes we crack with underlying truths. I want to say it’s easy, talents always overriding the hard earned skills. the duality between working hard and wondering if any of it’s enough. my poetic mind likes to make light of the struggle. turn it into a romantic gesture the world never seems to offer, at least to people that look like us. i want to say the work is always worth it. say we’ve made it. but it’s only ever worth it when you make the shot. and the hoop only gets smaller the closer you get. so much to lose, choosing to be dreamers. always a backup plan at the forefront of our minds in case we don’t. and we always have yet to make it, never quite ever really there.