Growing up,
my mother always spoon-fed me her
hopes and dreams swirled in like
brown sugar with my morning oatmeal
Doctor.
Lawyer.
Engineer.
My father stacked these potential professions
on my nightstand,
tucking them in gently alongside
me every night
Instead of teaching me how to dream,
my parents taught me how to plan,
sculpting me into the perfect resume
I was never baby dolls and play dates,
only report cards and teacher conferences
But the identities they craved for me
never quite fit –
their limitations too restrictive
for my fierce imagination
Instead of a calculator,
I was an unwritten book –
An idealist lost in a
world of practicality
But it turns out their rules
are not the law,
And their ideas
do not have to define me
Because why limit myself to one thing,
when there are limitless possibilities
waiting to be explored?
I may not be the singularity
they raised me to be –
no matter
I am wildflowers and constellations,
infinite dreams and creativity –
I am unique.
I am whole.
I am me.