The Real World
The real world isn’t made of dreams,
But cracked sidewalks and coffee steam.
It hums with traffic, groans with weight,
And dances on the edge of fate.
It’s morning rush and midnight calls,
Graffiti scrawled on bathroom stalls.
It’s bills unpaid and hearts that mend,
A start, a stumble, and an end.
It’s laughter loud in subway cars,
And quiet grief beneath the stars.
It’s kindness found in stranger’s eyes,
And truths we learn when comfort dies.
It’s not a place of perfect peace,
But moments when the noise will cease.
A child’s giggle, a lover’s touch—
The real world offers just as much.
So walk it raw, without disguise,
With open hands and searching eyes.
For though it’s flawed, and often tough,
The real world’s real—and that’s enough.
T