At seven, I was sure
I would be a ballerina.
No surprises there.
At ten, I set my sights
On Miss America,
But didn’t tell a soul.
All my life, it seems,
I’ve had these fleeting dreams
But never any concrete answer
To the constant question asked.
Now here I sit, all grown up,
Wondering when the question changed
From: What do you want to be?
To: What do you do?
Wondering why we as adults
Define and confine ourselves so
By what we do
And seldom stop to ask ourselves
Who we want to be.
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