Journalist
by: Chloe Kowalyk
Should I be a journalist? Will I still be Good?
Type away at my computer like I was always told I should?
Meet my parents expectations
Just to hear their gratifications?
My whole life I grew up not knowing who I wanted to be.
Every other thought of mine disagrees.
I’m not even sure I can imagine myself there,
in a skirt that’s too tight and barrettes in my hair.
My life would revolve around deadlines and the sound of tapping
on my keyboard and doing anything to cover the next story, to be
in the public eye and get all of the glory!
I wanted to be a truth-seeker, and one who serves the people,
to bring them reality, but the media is evil.
It’s full of hypocrites and narcissists and liars and deceivers.
The media tries to scare and it lies and cheats,
whatever happened to the small town hero that
covered the town’s beats?
I told myself I’d try to be different and seek the truth,
but I fear no one would listen to me in my youth,
and that I’d turn into that negative connotation that the media holds
I’m not sure I can be that bold.
I couldn’t place myself above another, but O wouldn’t it be worse
to disappoint my mother?
“You’ll be our little star, you’ll be on TV”
“Everyone will know who you are and the words that you speak”
which is all good and well but a journalist’s struggle
is having every word being accused as “biased!”
and the fear of being wrong in the slightest.
Honestly, I’m scared and afraid that I’ll degrade my name
with a constant wound caused by a double-edged blade.
And then there’s how people see you:
too fat, too skinny, too short, too tall,
all things that why, why they scare me out of being in the public eye at all.
How would they perceive me?
Too young to be wise, despite my degree.
I’d try and I’d try to make things right,
in a world that’s unforgiving and always starts a fight.
Would I even be respected?
No one would take me seriously.
Some days I wished I could live the same week for the rest of my life,
and never choose a job and never become someone’s wife.
Instead, I’d rather stay right where I am,
still unsure of the future and the pains of living and dying that make life a sham.
O God, I try to make my life different and enjoy every moment, but it can be so
hard when everything is weighing on my shoulders, and I carry the weight of
the world and all of it’s boulders.
I wake myself up just to see the sunrise
and take the world’s beauty fully in my eyes
I vow to you that I’ll make change and I won’t hurt others,
but I couldn’t say the same about myself in a career that smothers.
What is this toll I take on to be perfect and write perfect
and transcribe the world and the things that I see
and the things that are urgent.
Is the life of a journalist the one I desire?
I’d lose my fire
to be bashed and criticized,
with everyone calling “fake news!” is my writing even legitimized?
I used to dream of being a hero, like Spiderman or Superman,
but instead it looks like I’ll be Lois Lane.
Do others see her as a hero? Or do they just remember her name?
Trust me, I love my Clark Kent dearly, for the lives he’s saving
and the changes he’s making, but I need the world to recognize
I have powers too,
and the courage it takes to be like you,
when all they remember is what Superman did
and how super he was,
while Lois types away at her computer
known only as his Mrs.
by: Chloe Kowalyk
Should I be a journalist? Will I still be Good?
Type away at my computer like I was always told I should?
Meet my parents expectations
Just to hear their gratifications?
My whole life I grew up not knowing who I wanted to be.
Every other thought of mine disagrees.
I’m not even sure I can imagine myself there,
in a skirt that’s too tight and barrettes in my hair.
My life would revolve around deadlines and the sound of tapping
on my keyboard and doing anything to cover the next story, to be
in the public eye and get all of the glory!
I wanted to be a truth-seeker, and one who serves the people,
to bring them reality, but the media is evil.
It’s full of hypocrites and narcissists and liars and deceivers.
The media tries to scare and it lies and cheats,
whatever happened to the small town hero that
covered the town’s beats?
I told myself I’d try to be different and seek the truth,
but I fear no one would listen to me in my youth,
and that I’d turn into that negative connotation that the media holds
I’m not sure I can be that bold.
I couldn’t place myself above another, but O wouldn’t it be worse
to disappoint my mother?
“You’ll be our little star, you’ll be on TV”
“Everyone will know who you are and the words that you speak”
which is all good and well but a journalist’s struggle
is having every word being accused as “biased!”
and the fear of being wrong in the slightest.
Honestly, I’m scared and afraid that I’ll degrade my name
with a constant wound caused by a double-edged blade.
And then there’s how people see you:
too fat, too skinny, too short, too tall,
all things that why, why they scare me out of being in the public eye at all.
How would they perceive me?
Too young to be wise, despite my degree.
I’d try and I’d try to make things right,
in a world that’s unforgiving and always starts a fight.
Would I even be respected?
No one would take me seriously.
Some days I wished I could live the same week for the rest of my life,
and never choose a job and never become someone’s wife.
Instead, I’d rather stay right where I am,
still unsure of the future and the pains of living and dying that make life a sham.
O God, I try to make my life different and enjoy every moment, but it can be so
hard when everything is weighing on my shoulders, and I carry the weight of
the world and all of it’s boulders.
I wake myself up just to see the sunrise
and take the world’s beauty fully in my eyes
I vow to you that I’ll make change and I won’t hurt others,
but I couldn’t say the same about myself in a career that smothers.
What is this toll I take on to be perfect and write perfect
and transcribe the world and the things that I see
and the things that are urgent.
Is the life of a journalist the one I desire?
I’d lose my fire
to be bashed and criticized,
with everyone calling “fake news!” is my writing even legitimized?
I used to dream of being a hero, like Spiderman or Superman,
but instead it looks like I’ll be Lois Lane.
Do others see her as a hero? Or do they just remember her name?
Trust me, I love my Clark Kent dearly, for the lives he’s saving
and the changes he’s making, but I need the world to recognize
I have powers too,
and the courage it takes to be like you,
when all they remember is what Superman did
and how super he was,
while Lois types away at her computer
known only as his Mrs.