An Insignificant Poem on Significance
An Insignificant Poem on Significance
I just want to do something significant. I
want to write something that matters, something
that makes a change for the good, but
I also want to just be me: I want to dream
of wearing silk dresses with skirts perfect for twirling,
and I want to admire the stars without ever learning them.
I want to be a poet wearing rings and short hair, but
I also want hair flying in the wind, finally long enough
for the braid crown I've always wanted to have, and
I'm too scared to ever wear more than two rings at a time.
I want to streak pages with words that carry such weight, yet
I only ever am able to scrawl frivolous verses in messy cursive.
I want my poetry to be perfect rhymes and meter, but
I'm too much of a rambler, or maybe I'm just lazy with
a tendency of forgetting what my poem was supposed to be about,
trailing into whatever stream of glittering blue water I
find running before my eyes, across my screen.
I had a plan for what was going to come after this line, but
I have now forgotten any glimmer of organization.
I think this poem was supposed to be about trying to make a difference.
And I really hope I do one day, and
I really hope there is at least one person whose heart
I have helped to heal; I hope the wildflowers in my own
have scattered their seeds into your hope, and
grown into your own dreams.
The Voice
March 2026
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