I chase my true self-everyday trying to locate this inner
spiritual being that holds all the answers that everyone says it does because I
have a million of them and nothing seems to be providing any kind of solace. I
battle with my sanity, questioning whether or not I’m making the right
decisions or if I’m just a dreamer in denial of the inevitable.
I watch peers move forward in their careers and relocate to
cities full of the bright lights and opportunities while I try and convince
myself that my time is coming.
“Ain’t no writers like Demetria Lucas (My writing fairy god
mother and career inspiration)” coming out of Youngstown, Ohio,” my thoughts
tell me as I fight back the knot in my throat. I want to cry and give up . I
curse God for giving me a vision that seems damn near impossible to achieve
with limited resources.
Who am I? And am I living a life of vanity for trying to
tell the world my story hoping my truth sets souls on fires and ignites my
readers to wipe the dust and cobb webs off of their own decaying dreams.
If my goal is to inspire and drive freedom, then why do I
feel so caged and unfulfilled? I play dress up in my childhood bedroom
pretending I’m being interviewed on Oprah about my fictitious best selling
book. I use my imagination to live in the dreams that currently seem
unrealistic.
My momma says that law school should be my next move but the
thought of practicing American law makes my skin crawl.
At 24-years-old with no children and a car I’m told to count
my blessings. I try hoping the universe doesn’t strike me down for my
ungratefulness.
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