Understanding

I wish I were a character,

out of a book,

whose journey was

dramatic and moving

or funny and intelligent.

I wish I said or did the right things,

and I wish someone else was writing it.

Hunched over a desk

writing away my life,

waxing poetic,

making me a hero.

I wish they would write

my lines and actions,

I wish they would write my fate.

I wish I were a protagonist,

in a fantasy land or reality,

battling villains both historical and modern.

I wish my story were relatable

and my personality palatable.

I wish I were timeless

and taught a thousand years from now

in English classes,

I wish my story would be good enough

to ignore and breathe confidence

into every procrastinating student.

I wish they would wing my test and get an ‘A’.

Because that would mean my story

was universal,

that it’s themes and metaphors

had already been done before.

Only then would I be understood.