My dreams were infinite.
I wanted to do everything possible,
From a singer to a teacher.
My ideas changed quickly,
Bouncing back and forth.
Even when I was a small girl,
One job called out to me.
From the time I could hold a pencil to now,
"Writer" has always stood out to me.
At first, it wasn't something I grasped for,
Something I thought wasn't obtainable.
That didn't worry me.
There's always a backup, right?
However, as I grew older,
My dreams were beginning to fade away.
No matter what I tried to do,
It seemed like I could not do it good enough.
I could not draw like them,
I could not sing like them.
There was always someone better.
Each and every time,
I would crawl back to writing.
It became my home,
The one place I felt like I belonged.
Despite reading other people's works,
I never compared myself to theirs.
For some reason,
Writing was different.
My passion for writing began to grow and grow,
And with that,
The fear set in.
Writing felt like my true calling,
What I was meant to do.
Still, the statistics were so low.
Telling people "I want to be a writer,"
Would always merit the response,
"What's your backup plan?"
I can't think of one.
I can think of no other job that would suit me.
So, I remain afraid.
Will my dream job never become my reality?
There's so much I want to share with the world,
So many stories I want to tell.
I want my words to help someone.
I hope they can.
My dream job is sitting right in front of me,
Yet so far away.
I will work every day for it to become a reality,
Because my worst fear is letting my final dream fade.