A sixteen year-old girl with dreams much too large for her
Current standing. Someone who enjoys simple, pretty things.
Literature. A girl wrestling with herself philosophically,over
What in the world actually matters. I am directionless.
I am often stupid and selfish, like humans can be.
Here is I want to be, someday:
A more confident and less naive version of myself,
Perhaps an artist in the written word. I want to be
More intelligent, and to follow my much too large dreams.
I wish to be one who is comfortable with not knowing
Where I am going.
Here is what I will never be:
A confident, pretty, thin human being, who has made
Her life into everything she ever wanted it to be. I will
not be a wonderful, incredibly smart scholar.
To be honest,
My aspirations are becoming
These things that are stretching themselves
Out beyond my grasp just a little bit.
We are always told to follow our dreams.
Why aren't adults honest with us when we're little children?
To follow our dreams is to fling ourselves
Into a great and powerful tumult,
And only some emerge victorious.
I'm feeling utterly hopeless.
Insignificant and tiny.
Screwed up.
I don't deal well with stress.
But I'm sure this has already been made apparent.
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