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.
About the Creator
Zelda Foxx
Mother of two facing a mid life crisis or finally living my dreams of trying to make something of my words.
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