Safety scissors scatter the classroom floor
My teachers smile engulfs the room.
The smell of glue on sticky fingers
And the sound of crayons on paper.
We trace our hands with magic markers
Leaving hints of blues and reds on our palms.
We are given a simple task,
To write what we wish to do in the future.
I am only 6 in a colorful kindergarten room
My teacher tells me I can write anything.
My friend says she wants to be a teacher
Another wants to travel to the moon.
There is so much I could write
I want to compete in the Olympics
To write a novel
perform on broadway,
But none of those are good enough
I try to use my limited kindergarten vocabulary
To describe the very thing I wish to do the most.
I pick up my pink colored pencil
And place it in the middle of my outlined hand
And I write.
Our teacher comes to collect our work; what she calls “masterpieces”.
She reads all of them outloud
And when she comes to mine she takes a pause
And she reads,
“Viktoria wants to bring peace to the world through her stories”.