A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
The genie turned to her
After sending off all the others
To be the people they always dreamed to be.
Rich, Famous, Happy, Alone, and Together,
Doctors, Travelers, Kings, and Queens,
Geniuses, Leaders, Artists, and false gods.
“Now who do you wish to be?” the genie demanded of the young girl.
“I wish to be me,” she replied.
The genie laughed at her deeply.
“That is your wish?”
“But you already are! You could be so much more!” the genie boomed, his voice echoing into distant lands.
The little girl replied, her voice heard only by him,
“Well, I don’t wish to be just me. I wish to be the me I am meant to be.
And that is not a wish you can grant.”
So the genie left her.