As much as my happiness wants to come out
I find that my soul is left crouching with pout,
since all the goals and the wants that I choose
only look at me with eyes that refuse.
This brain is insane since it wants to be lame
by never committing to what can be had,
instead it will choose to be chasing the fame
until I am crazy or labeled as mad.
Nothing is easy when worth is like gold,
but it’d be nice to be glad when I’m old.
So I am stuck in this ambitious rut
chasing a dream that is hard to achieve.
A dream of an actor and even a model
that knows how to move so that others will follow.
Yet even still I will reach for much higher;
I truly just wish to be such a great writer.