My fingertips trail along the spines

of books, imagining my name

written across them.

One day my stories will fill the shelves,

will inspire others to find that thing that makes us human.

 

They say my major is pointless, my career is a dream.

My path isn’t sure, isn’t stable.

And they’re jealous because they’re too afraid,

too afraid to take a chance.

 

The odds stack against me, but others have done it.

Why count myself among the fallen

before I jump?

 

Poetry

3 Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *