"what do you want to do?" they ask,
looking for doctor, architect, lawyer.

i'm silent for a moment.

of course, i know what i want to do.
i've known for years.

but it's so hard to express my truth
when i know i'll be met with ridicule.

"i want to be a poet." i say.

they smile and call me a dreamer.
they commend my ambition and creativity.
their eyes scream j u d g e m e n t.

"what do you want to go to college for?" they try again,
hoping to get a better answer.
one that's more acceptable to society.

"well," i say, "i would love to take a creative writing class."

they raise their eyebrows.
that was not the answer they wanted.

"i just want to live my life through experience,
writing about everything i feel.
it's my greatest passion and my one true love.
i truly believe i have a gift." i add,
hoping they understand i'm serious.

i want them to know how hard i'm willing to work
to make this dream come true,
because fewer things are more attractive to an adult
as a teenager who is committed to a certain path in life.

"okay, mrs. poet,
what are you going to do to pay the bills?"

they really think they got me this time,
believing that all kids ever want is incredible amounts of money
and gadgets they'll never use.

but poets aren't shallow.

i chuckle at their attempt to stereotype me.
poetry is my end and my beginning,
what gives me joy.

so, yes,
poetry is a career.