I remember when I was younger
"Be whatever you wanted to be."
It was all I ever heard,
A message stuck on repeat.
I carried that message with me
I never forgot it since then.
For if I did, then it would just make it another obsolete thought.
Trust me, I had a lot of them.
I remember when I was in school
They asked me what I wanted to be
I told them I wanted to be a writer
I told them I wanted to do poetry.
But they said
"No, what do you seriously want to be?
Maybe something more manly
And preferably something that makes more money."
I was young, so I said
"A rich writer."
I got older, but my passionwas undying
While the other boys were tossing balls
I was in posted by the wall, writing.
Then the door was kicked down
And realization stood at its foot
I was going nowhere with this
The girls didn't like a boy with his nose buried six feet into his notebook.
I was so caught up with the cool kid I wanna be
That I became a wannabe
I forgot about the writer I told others
And promised myself that I was gonna be.
Watching my dreams crumble at my feet
All for the stupid statement
That what people think
And a yearly salary
Should affect my choice in occupation.
But I picked those pieces up
I'm still missing some, I'll admit it
But at least I can say I kept going
At least I can say I did it.
They say they want me to follow my dreams
But they say that they don't want me on the streets
Looking for change
But I reckon that in a couple years,
A month, or a week, or so,
I can stand up for myself and for other writiers
Who just "Want to be what they want to be."
Then maybe if our voices are heard
Money won't be such a big deal
And maybe with a voice
And an empty page,
I won't be the only person
Looking for change.