Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  Jul 2018 Taylor N Culp
Lana D
What do you want to do, they ask me?
I want to teach U.S History. I reply
Professor? They ask
No middle school
You know that doesn’t pay well is their last answer to me

Don’t they think I know that
I ask them the same question,
What do you want to do?
They reply: Lawyer, doctor, politician.
They give me answers underlined with dollar signs
They don’t know what their passion is so they
Peruse the merchandise, and look for the one with the biggest price tag,

In my school there are academies
Where you train in your future profession
Is it a wonder that everyone runs to the medical field
Because of the long line of zero’s on it’s room number
While they all sprinted, I casually walked to the one with the big fat zero on it’s doormat.

What do I want to do, what do I want to be?
I want to be a zero dollar teacher.
I want to be a broken gumball machine
With no need for shiny quarters, continually shoving out chewy spheres of knowledge
Spheres of joy, spheres of wisdom, spheres of truth.
I know I don’t make much green
But I’ll make a million smiles
I’ll be payed in laughter and gratitude.Which I’ll earn from the things I have taught, and have been taught to me. While you map out the brain as gray, I’ll be mapping out the U.S.A
And while you stare at frowning faces, I’m gonna look at thirty or so smiling faces
When you go home to your mansion to grumble on your throne of a couch
I’ll be in my cottage thinking of how blessed life can be,
I know I don’t get paid much.
Because I only cost
Zero dollars and zero point zero zero cents.
  Jul 2017 Taylor N Culp
Jordon Rivir
Ode to a Poet(writer)
I know you,
All alone
4am is when you feel most at home.
I feel you,
Blank page, full pen,
I see you,
Looking at a page waiting for a tale to unfold,
When it starts, it flows,
I am you,
Hiding away, writing my pain,
Escaping reality,
Day to day,
We are art,
In the way we move,
We are the dreamer's and believer's
Pad and pen in hand til our dreams come true.
C. Tyler

— The End —