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

Playing tag

Running laps

Spinning rifles

Charming girls

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

A pen,

A notebook,

And an empty page,

I won't be the only person

 

Looking for change.