What can I do? I can't help but ask, as I'm staring out my bedroom window at children playing, and cars passing by.
It's summer, and I'm standing here alone. Where do I fit into this wondrous scene?
I watch a boy much older then me playing basketball alone, shot after shot, and no matter how many times he misses, he keeps trying.
I wonder, what keeps him going? Why not give up? I stop trying to justify his actions, and I look away.
I peer into the distance and I notice a young girl playing with chalk on the road, I've walked down this street time and time again, and
her pictures are never good. And I'm always so perplexed to see her come back to draw something new. How can you have fun doing something you're no good at?
I fume. Why does everyone but me fall into simplicity's bliss?
I've heard before that it takes ten thousand hours of direct practice to become truly excellent at any craft.
Ten thousand hours have passed, and I'm still staring out this window. The court is empty, and the chalk drawings have long since washed away.
I think to myself, maybe their maturity caught up to them and they both realized that dreams are hopeless.
Ha! I was right to question them, my dreams are never gonna come true, why should there's?
I'm 13 and good for nothing.
One warm Summer night, I'm once again alone, and flipping through consistently uninteresting T.V shows.
I can't explain what it was, but it felt as if someone whispered to me. A silent command to stop on the very next channel.
I glared at the screen, much like a zombie, and took in the view. A man and a woman were talking, and it didn't take long to realize it was some kind of interview. The woman rambled on about how the man had impressed the scouts in his last game, and asked if he had any idea where he planned to go to.
The man responded with the names of a couple colleges, and something about his favorite team. The woman thanked him for his time and the screen changed. Suddenly I was watching highlights of a high school basketball game, and.....It was him! The kid who used to play across the street!
After the highlights, the screen went black and words flashed across the screen.
"Ten Thousand hours. Every obstacle. One dream."
i couldn't believe it. I watched him miss shot after shot, day after day, and now.....Now he's going to be playing in college?
Immense jealousy filled my gut, but I couldn't help smiling. Deep down, I knew his dream came true, only because he deserved it.
And then, I thought about that little girl, drawing on the street.....Maybe she's still drawing somewhere. Still trying to reach her dreams.
I guess I'll never know.
Later that night...I lie on my bed in the pitch darkness, wide awake.
I was being haunted by my own worthlessness. I needed a purpose, a reason for living.
Image after image shot through my mind, like little movies of how it'd be if I tried this or that.
I got up and switched on the light. I grabbed a notebook from my desk and started writing down each idea.
If I exercise everyday, maybe I can be a football player.
I like to sing, I could make a band when I'm older.
A soccer star? A boxer?
Before I knew it, the sun crept over the horizon and I'd filled page after page with all my dreams,
like little autobiographies that haven't happened yet.
At first they all seemed exciting, but as every Summer passed me by, I grew older and wiser.
They all slowly disappeared, whether reality crushed them, or I decided they weren't worth my time.
Five dreams remain.
A rock star?
I can sing, but I don't have a striking complexion.
I've put so much work into the game, but my vision is getting worse, it just won't work.
They don't take the disabled.
I would if I could.
That's one step below ninja.
I'll never be that bad ass.
A writer, it's all that's left.
My one dream.
I think back to my first poem, and wonder how it's still my best.
I look out that familiar window, five years flash before my eyes,
and I laugh. Summer time, oh how the picture has changed.
Where do I fit in? I remember asking,
and I cringe at the fact it took so long for me to find the answer.
I pull the curtains closed, sit at my desk, and open my notebook.
"4,000 and counting," I whisper as I title the blank page,
I'm not sure how many hours I've really practiced writing.
I just made a wild estimate.
Divine, I have spent many hours/years metal detecting. I have learned over time that I will always dig and dig and end up finding a peice of junk. But then one day, out of the blue I will find something of true value. Something wonderful that makes all my searching worth it. The joy that comes from that moment of discovery is rare and precious. Today was one of those wonderful days, because you left me a treasure. Thank you for sharing this and whatever may come from the contest, you are a wonderful author and I hope that you realize your true potential. The depth and thought you have put into this work is professional quality. Sure there are tweeks that you will learn as you progress but this has a touch of humanity in it. Bravo to you kiddo.... And that smile on your face right now is truly deserved.
I bow to your ability and style.
p.s. Show off!!!!
Thank you both, really. Star, I won't, I promised myself that :)
And Forge, you're very welcome :) I really liked the subtle analogy to metal detecting,
the fact that poetry seems to work it's way into your words naturally shows that you have great talent,
I hope to have that someday. And thank you again. You hit the nail on the head with the smile part :)
I return your bow, for your humble words and kindness
This is an amazing piece of writing. All of your writing is impressive but this is def among my favs. I agree with Forge "show off!!!" XD
Talk about giving up always makes me think of Edison and the light bulb.
"Edison made 1,000 unsuccessful attempts at inventing the light bulb. When a reporter asked, "How did it feel to fail 1,000 times?" Edison replied, "I didn’t fail 1,000 times. The light bulb was an invention with 1,000 steps."
Wow. Thank you :)
It means alot.
And that quote is inspirational in a way.
I don't dream of making a career of it anymore, but as soon as I save up enough for a guitar, I'm still gonna give my best shot at writing music,
so I never give up on anything completely. The dreams that came and left, in a way, still shape who I am.
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