I wanted to be a poet,
until I found out you had to be weird.
I wanted to philosophize,
but found I couldn't grow a beard.
I wanted to write a novel,
but lacked the foresight to plan it.
I wanted to play music,
but was beat out by people with talent.
All these things I've wanted to do,
I couldn't because of some reason.
I tried to be a success, but couldn't will myself to be one.
Maybe I’m not good enough,
or perhaps something else.
Is it possible that my purpose has yet to be unveiled?
But since I can't be what I want,
and I can only be me,
I’ve come to the conclusion that I am TBD.