Wandering when

When will it be my turn

Am I just washed up and used

Are my words dead

Unrecognized in my head

Left to languish there

And fill me with dread of self doubt

They were supposed to be my out

I wish and hope upon a prayer

For forgiveness of all my past sins

Wondering when the party begins

But my debt mounts

And nothing falls through

There seems to be no end to this avenue

The dream of getting paid and making it big

Just produce the say

And maybe it will be yours one day

I have produced ever since I was 12,

Filling scraps of paper, then notebooks and journals

Then floppy disks that were not so floppy

I tried to keep track of it all

But from physical moves, to storage damage,

T0 transfers of the technical, many of my words were lost

Whispers on the wind

I have forgotten more poetry then I written

I wanted the writing career

I lived in fear of never having a paycheck

When I was young

I was so very practical about dreaming

Keeping everything perfect and seeming

Just so, the perfect all American girl

But at the same time I had a calling equal to my writer's soul

And I heard that song to bring education to the young

So I watched as some of my peers went off and did more

While I learned strategies about behavior.

Instead of the intricacies of editing software.

And in order to make it in this new world as a creator

You need to be more flashy or your words get missed

And I believe I may disappear into infamy.

Before my words are discovered.

Before I am dead

Unrecognized, but man I just want others to see

The beauty I created with the years of pain in my head.