My Dream

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Dreams keep me up at night.

Wondering, thinking

Thinking about, “If only I could be them!”

Maybe then people would listen.

But no.

No one cares about the dreams of the quiet girl in the back of the class.

 

A Pharmacist.

That’s my dream.

You may not care, but to me it is important.

It is what silences the hatred.

“You can’t be a pharmacist.”

“Your poor idiot!”

Ha! Foolish children!

I will remember that when they are looking for their psychiatric meds.

 

My love for this is deep.

I just want people to listen.

I want a chance.

Where is my hope?

My destiny?

It lies in the hands of the rich.

So I grovel.

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