One job?

Honestly?

I want to be a published writer.

Nothing ambiguous, just a poet.

Of course, I want to be a hero,

A dreamer,

A strong spirit,

But I want to make a living off of putting letters into words,

Making sentences that mean something to someone,

Onto beige pieces of paper bound by 

A leather cover with my name 

Embossed down the spine

In gold ink.

To write would be amazing...

I would be myself, completely.

Isn't it pretty to think so?