Dreams/Goals

My ultimate goal in life is to be a writer; pretty much always has been, except now my focus is on poetry rather than prose. What somewhat disturbs me is that sometimes those close to me do not also believe in these dreams. They may want me to be happy as well, but they do not see writing as a realistic profession. I disagree and refuse to change myself based upon others' opinions.

Yesterday, I was rejected by Poetry Magazine. As a writer, rejection is common and I'm used to it; I immediately resubmitted to Poetry Magazine and also to "Crazyhorse", another literary journal.

Untitled
Tracing constellations of
veins, blue and branching
vines of the flesh:
windy breath and
gasping air.
Stark, collapsing
bones between
cascading blood.
Thoughts crumple and
rush like quicksand,
stripping memories
of sunshine and
fireworks. Dewdrops
dampen lips and
lashes glued with
taught skin and
a hunger. Love
tags between
pines and brushes
spines and soothes.