"You have the chances of an actor."

My dad told me this was a waste of my time.

I plant the tripod and plug in the mic.

I’m still offended, but in the video I look fine.

Post the results, hankering for a like.

Will I make it on Youtube?

I don’t know.

I put in time and effort but it just doesn’t show.

Film a new video, varying my content.

Adobe Premiere, new project, import media.

Write a new script, type away, indent.

Check facts, new tab, Wikipedia.

Was my dad right?

I don’t think so.

I’ll believe in myself even if he won’t.

Only this past year did I start this pastime,

Taking video of cars just for kicks.

Hoping someday I’ll make a dime

And silence all of my critics.

Why do I keep trying?

This work is my passion,

And this job is much more to me than a cash-in.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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