Sketchpad

Secretly sketching unsuspecting victims out on the drawing pad. Cars pass fast, rushing to their destinations, not taking time to notice me. I’m nothing special to anyone, really. Just another face in the crowd, another wannabe poet, musician, artist. Put chords to these words and bring the song to a talent show. Try to get by on meager wishes, fill up my heart with hopes. Never will wishes come true. It’s never like the movies we see on TV. Since nothing ever goes right, I’ve learned not to expect too much anymore. Tie up wishes with ropes; take a chain and whip to the naughty thoughts of living and dreaming. Let those expectations die. Please.