No poetry was written,
No fairytales were read.
As if it was forbidden,
By the monsters in her head.
And all they thought was silly,
Was quickly thrown away.
By a girl who had to grow up,
By a girl who couldn't play.
All her dreams and fantasies,
All her fears and hopes.
Thrown in a bag of garbage,
Balloons and skipping ropes.
The teddybears and puzzles,
All had to retreat.
For new puzzles in her head,
She never would complete.
No poetry was written,
No fairytales were told.
Her eyes spoke of a sad tale,
Her hands were always cold.
She thought of no white horses,
For she was no princess.
Her life was about papers,
Staring at a blank paper
Is an artist's worst nightmare.
The artist is the shaper,
Their thoughts somewhere up in the air.
They are searching for inspiration,
Sometimes they are even searching the skies.
It takes a lot of concentration,
But you can always see the passion burning in their eyes.
Being an artist does not always mean you're creative.
It just means that you want to create something,
And never want to give up.
When I was young,
I knew a girl.
She was so warm and bright,
so I asked her that question
that all children must answer.
'What do you want to be
when you grow up?'
Her eyes lit up with joy
and she jumped with excitement.
'A dancer!
No, an astronaut!
Wait, President!
A scientist!
I'll be famous
and in movies!
My name
will be everywhere!'
She listed so many more
until she finally just smiled
and looked at me with eyes filled
with child-like wonder.
'I could be anything I wanted.'
Years and years later,
I saw the same girl again
but her eyes no longer
lit up with wonder.
I asked her,
'What did you end up being?'
She