Between the leavers books and last day photos,
where we stand pressed tight against each other
arms locked over rib-cages and shoulders
with smiles showing every tooth and crease
at the edges of of eyes,
we threw our ten year plans out like helicopter seeds,
their swirling fragile bodies caught up in our whirlwinds
so desperate to flee the school gates
to escape to the world lying beyond
where we would become doctors, architects, teachers,
opera singers, engineers, artists, and writers,
because thirty was a long way away
and we were all more than capable of closing the distance
between what we were and who we wanted to be.
Five years in at the halfway mark
I’m still spinning stories for strangers
who know my name and my words
but little more than that.
Plans of conquering my third novel by the time I such and such
have turned to
let’s just get this one finished for god’s sake please,
some time between the steps I’m climbing
one accountancy exam at a time
and the colours I’m aspiring to
one belt at a time
in the hopes that by the time I’m thirty
I’ll be more than just a writer
I’ll be more than just the person
who wanted nothing but her books.
NaPoWriMo Day Eleven : “What does y(our) future provide?”
I really like this image: “we threw our ten year plans out like helicopter seeds,
their swirling fragile bodies caught up in our whirlwinds”