Poem: Paper Wishes

[sherlockian_syn]

I was never a child.

Always striving for some
unattainable perfection,
I was supposed to go to
Harvard.

I was going to make
ninety-thousand dollars
a year, networking
computers. Never given

a choice.

When you're thirteen,
you don't mind having
the future planned for you.
It made things easy.

Do well in school.
Study hard.
Learn learn learn
to get a letter on

a scrap of paper.

When was worth
assigned a symbol?
When did money
signify the good life?

I am twenty-four.
I still haven't graduated
from a school that doesn't
belong to the Ivy League.

And I couldn't be happier.