Pipe Dream

But I ripped them up, Thinking my work was so incomplete, so inadequate. I wonder if I am living in a pipe dream. But since I was a little girl growing up in New York, Always wanted to be a writer or poet. Submitting creative works to magazines, Only with the long envelopes coming back. Rejection with a short note: "We're sorry we can't use your work" Me crying over dad's waiting shoulders. He was always there. He and my sister always wanted me to keep the work alive. But I'm a frustrated person And tore up everything that I wrote. Am I living in a pipe dream?