Purpose

When I was a child I walked along Danford Road
And wondered when purpose would hit me
Like a drunk-driven car meets the guard rail along Zimmerman Trail.

The trailer park kids didn't wear shirts
In the summer when it was sweltering
And mine stuck to my lower back.

I liked what people said I was good at
And thought that maybe it was my destiny
Like being born with a God-given task to scrape road kill from I-90.

So it really wasn't I who chose my path,
But that woman with golden spiraled hair
Like the Ramen Noodles I ate crunchy dipped in the seasoning packet.

Then I reached my destination of doing what I thought was right
And discovered that I hated it more than the way I hated
The room full of people at English 215 who stared at me when my interpretation was wrong.

So there I was in the parking lot off of Rimrock Road
Wondering when purpose would hit me
Like the fist to my face at my friend's tenth birthday party.

If doing what people say I am good at doesn’t bring me joy,
Then I am left to discover it all on my own
And I can walk along this street that has yet to be named
And I'll decide what I like
And will like what I do because no one told me I was good at it,
And I know it was a purpose I chose for myself.