I stare at my hands as I was asked the question,
So many turbulent feelings turned emotions,
What was my childhood dream as my mind begins to fade away to simpler times.

I dreamt of soaring high with wings of steel,
A pilot, cutting through the endless blue,
To chart the stars, touch clouds, and feel the wind,
But skies turned gray, my wings were clipped by fate.

A healer's gentle touch, to mend the broken,
To stitch the wounds that time and sorrow carve,
But sickness spread, and hope was hard to find,
The balm I held turned bitter in my palm.

To stand before a class of eager minds,
A beacon, shedding light in darkened rooms,
But shadows grew, and whispers filled the halls,
The knowledge faded, lost in endless night.

An artist’s brush, to paint the world anew,
With every stroke, a story to be told,
But colors bled, and canvases grew dim,
The palette dulled by tears and endless toil.

Grease-streaked and weary, dreams reduced to ash,
Each aspiration marred by cruel despair,
The sorrow thick, it clings to every breath,
A testament to hopes that could not last.

They ask again uncertainty in their voices
and in their faces,
for it was the first time I'd become hesitant in their graces
It may be foolish since it's so hard to find









What I wanted to be when I grew up


















Was kind.
© jMaj161914