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?
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