By Ivy Miller
When I was five, I wanted to be a doctor.
I didn’t know what the job entailed exactly
But I knew doctors used X-rays and instruments
To help the sick in ways most people could not
My sixth grade science project was on airflow
To demonstrate for my class I used a hairdryer
And made a ping pong ball hover in midair
I could move it around without touching it
I used to figure skate in the winters and wonder
If gliding over the ice was as close to flying as I’d ever get
I used to stare from the glass floor of the Calgary tower
At my purple sneakers so far above the sprawling city
At fourteen I bowed over paper and wielded my pen
And created what I could never be
I didn’t realize I ever wanted power
Until I became a god.
I was cleaning out my room today and found this gem dated August 22nd, 2015. Aside from a few tweaks and a rough stanza that I cut entirely, I was surprised to find I liked it. So I polished it up and posted it here for your reading pleasure.
It’s about how I came to write novels about superheroes, in case you were wondering.