What She Will Be

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
    The question is asked with amusement, intrigue,
 And mild condescension.
       "A ballerina!"
            "A scientist!"
                "An astronaut!"
                    "An artist!"
      Some convoluted combination of the four.
  A million answers
Drawn from a thousand inspirations.
  The world is amicable.
     The child is young.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
    The question is less amused, more serious,
 And more condescending.
    "A ballerina!"
        "A scientist!"
            "An astronaut!"
                "An artist!"
      No convoluted combination of the four.
   The inspiration is dimming.
 The world is drawn in more defined lines.
   The child is not as young.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
     The question is asked seriously, not really a question,
 And still condescending.
    The answers are hesitant,
  Questions themselves.
       "A doctor?"
          "A lawyer?"
   The inspiration is gone.
 The world has told what it wants.
   The child is no longer allowed to be young.

  The child is no longer a child
 And the question is no longer the same.
The tone is still condescending,
       Expectant.
 There are a finite number of right answers.
                 None of those are an answer she intends to give.
"What will you be?"
The world screams demandingly.
                            In quiet defiance, she responds,
                                                                             "An inspiration."