Born A Writer

Father’s heart died in his briefcase

In a cubicle - 

His graveyard.

But it fuels my dream,

My dream of working at a magazine –

And writing my life away,

Sharing my words of honesty.

I refuse to be stuck

In a cubicle absent of passion,

I refuse to live dead.

So I will grind for my credits,

Work to perfect my craft,

To help me change the world.

A bachelors in literature –

 Money is no object,

If it leads to my dream.

I’ll save my pennies,

And one day,

I will graduate with my Bachelors,

Find my job at a magazine,

And change the damn world with words.

Just wait.