By Katherine Boulanger (I used to dream…)
When I was young,
I used to dream
Perhaps I would be a tennis player.
Fate took that dream away…
The weakest link,
The slowest horse,
The one holding everyone back
Was me.
No matter how I run,
I can’t catch up,
And I’m only wearing myself out
In the process.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I would be an actress.
I don’t know how that dream is going,
As I struggle during musical practice
To sing
And to dance
Without wearing out,
To hit the notes
While moving.
And I’m not sure if I can make it,
Or if,
Like with tennis,
I’m only wearing myself out,
And holding everyone back.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I could be amazingly friendly,
But even then,
I doubted it.
When I talk,
My mouth locks up,
And my brain slows down,
And I can’t figure out what to say.
Often,
I simply don’t say anything.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know
That I am really
That good of a friend at all.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I could be a comic book artist.
But to do that,
You must write a story
And draw it up.
So impatient,
So inconsistent,
The near constant episodes of artist’s block
The comics I’ve started and abandoned,
The fact that most
Of the characters I draw
Are not even mine,
Makes me wonder
If I can really do this.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I would definitely be a writer.
Yet, as of late,
And for almost a year now,
I have been fighting
Almost every step of the way
To keep my stories afloat.
The novels I’ve started
And then abandoned,
The short story prompts I looked at,
And thought about,
And never wrote for,
The I ideas that flee my mind
The moment I have time to write them,
Make me question even that.
I have to keep going,
I have to keep fighting.
But which battles are lost,
And which
Do I still
Have
A fighting chance?
And if I lose them all,
Then what am I?
What’s left
When all your dreams
Grow wings
And fly away
Without you?
When I was young,
I used to dream
Perhaps I would be a tennis player.
Fate took that dream away…
The weakest link,
The slowest horse,
The one holding everyone back
Was me.
No matter how I run,
I can’t catch up,
And I’m only wearing myself out
In the process.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I would be an actress.
I don’t know how that dream is going,
As I struggle during musical practice
To sing
And to dance
Without wearing out,
To hit the notes
While moving.
And I’m not sure if I can make it,
Or if,
Like with tennis,
I’m only wearing myself out,
And holding everyone back.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I could be amazingly friendly,
But even then,
I doubted it.
When I talk,
My mouth locks up,
And my brain slows down,
And I can’t figure out what to say.
Often,
I simply don’t say anything.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know
That I am really
That good of a friend at all.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I could be a comic book artist.
But to do that,
You must write a story
And draw it up.
So impatient,
So inconsistent,
The near constant episodes of artist’s block
The comics I’ve started and abandoned,
The fact that most
Of the characters I draw
Are not even mine,
Makes me wonder
If I can really do this.
When I was young,
I used to dream
That I would definitely be a writer.
Yet, as of late,
And for almost a year now,
I have been fighting
Almost every step of the way
To keep my stories afloat.
The novels I’ve started
And then abandoned,
The short story prompts I looked at,
And thought about,
And never wrote for,
The I ideas that flee my mind
The moment I have time to write them,
Make me question even that.
I have to keep going,
I have to keep fighting.
But which battles are lost,
And which
Do I still
Have
A fighting chance?
And if I lose them all,
Then what am I?
What’s left
When all your dreams
Grow wings
And fly away
Without you?