I could have been a cage fighter,
Or so I like to think:
A burly, broken-nosed brawler
Gushing blood on the brink.
Perhaps a brilliant scientist,
Peering into the sky,
Discovering ancient starlight
Transparent to the eye.
“Pulitzer winning journalist”
Might have followed my name.
Bold headlines would announce my work,
Showering me with fame.
These daydream
thoughts dance through my brain
While laughing
at my plight.
They beckon me to climb the ring,
Though clearly I can’t fight.
It is so much easier to settle
Than strive for higher peak.
Why risk a mortal head pounding
When comfort’s what I seek?
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