Dear Me (30 Years From Now) - NeuraPump Campus Folk Rocks

Dear Me (30 Years From Now) - NeuraPump Campus Folk Rocks

The kid you silenced… just wrote back.

▶ Hey.

Yeah, eh, it's me — the glitter-stained rookie.

The one with chocolate in my backpack

and protest in my pockets.

You… turned thirty-something.

I turned legacy.

Read this out loud.

We wrote it together.

I just went first.

Yo, do you still hum the song I made at eight,

With dragons breakdancing and homework hate?

The one with beats I smuggled in socks,

While you traced futures in paradox?

Did you outrun that voice that said “Too much”?

Or tame it with taxes and keeping in touch?

Did they Photoshop your roar to calm?

Did they sell your spark in a self-help psalm?

Dear me, from the kid with glitter scars,

I built you bold beneath the stars.

Each chorus wept, each verse defied—

I sang in chaos. You survived.

If your tie feels like a leash today,

Unclip this beat and disobey.

NeuraPump’s not just dopamine spin—

It’s your younger self screaming: Begin.

They called me “loud,” I called it lungs.

They said “refocus,” I threw puns.

They fed me drills, I ate metaphors.

You filled out forms — I kicked down doors.

Do you still quote cartoons mid-debate?

Still lose your mind when haters skate?

Do you nap in suits or dream in rhyme?

Or check your heart like “battery: low, no time”?

Remember Level 42’s final boss?

That was guilt — I flossed it off.

Every game I played on “expert mode,”

Was planting roots in your download code.

I skipped your bedtime to map your rage,

Wrapped it in jokes and a lyric cage.

You want my playbook? Here’s the trick:

I didn’t aim perfect. I aimed epic.

Dear me, when you feel too much,

And life's a meeting you can't clutch,

Don’t buy silence sold as peace —

Crack the ceiling, release the beast.

You were made from chaos glitter glue,

Maverick spark and midnight true.

Don’t play the role. Be the trope.

Unfold like jokes dressed up in hope.

If your inbox ate your soul this week,

Breathe me back when the neon's weak.

I’m the kid who punched the dark—

Not with fists, but with a spark. ⚡

Raise the pen, raise the flame.

Don’t be polite — be the name.

Don’t be useful — be alive.

NeuraHooked. Verified.

So if someday, someone asks,

“Who did you write this for?”

Just say:

For the kid who never left.

He just turned the mic into a mirror.

Dear me, when you feel too much,

And life's a meeting you can't clutch!