A Stereotype Poem by Her Name Is Taylor

On a wintry fall day
when leaves are a color of hay
Me, sitting here, waiting for a dream...
someone to give one to me?
someone to loathe and fill with disgust
because the dream they picked for me,
wasn't enough?
no, the dream that is my destiny,
this weird dream that no one likes,
why did you pick it out of this shady tree
and force upon my unpredicting sight
and tear my hidden dreams
with your cruel, blind hands
and slap a crayon into my face
and replace my name
and throw me in a box....

if I do say so myself, I do not like this dream
and I know I dont want to change this part of me
so may I please pick a dream for myself,
and, dont worry, if i need you, i'll ask for your help