Growing pains

When I grow up I want to be
The little girl dreamt
An interpreter for the UN
To help the whole world understand

When I grow up I want to be
The teenager then pondered
A doctor, a psychiatrist maybe
Or perhaps a GP, she wondered

When I grow up I want to be
The student then resolved
A researcher of biochemistry
Deduct how life on Earth evolved

When I grow up I want to be
The PhD envisioned
Working for the vulnerable and sick
In countries far and near to which I'll be commissioned

When I grow up I want to be
The woman suddenly thought small
Mumbling softly so no one would hear
Do I have to grow up at all?

Kill your darlings

Almost there. I have written all I had to say, entered all my references and did the formatting. Version 1 was sent off to my supervisor yesterday who promptly returned it to me two hours later with relevant suggestions and a general nod of approval. All should be well then with nine more days on the clock. Except that I am 1,000 words over my allowed word count of 8,000. I need to cut.

Easier said then done. I have spent so much time giving birth to these words; how can I kill them now? They are my children, my darlings. How can I choose between them? But like Sophie, I too have to make my choice. This is no time to be soft-hearted. Chop chop. Off with the adjectives. Bang bang. Another paraphrase mortally wounded. Like dominos they fall, hapless victims of a brutal verbacide. I am judge, jury and executioner.

Here the fallen lay
never will they be read
a thousand silenced words
some good, some plain, some bad

Tiger stripes

The explorer wanders through the jungle
Unhurried for he feels safe
He knows the beast is far away

He marvels at the tangled vastness
He catalogues, collects
Naïve to her approach

Slowly, steadily she sneaks near
One soft foot before another
Till underneath a branch snaps

Frightened he takes flight
Fast as his feet will carry
Dashing through the green

He turns, feels her hungry breath upon him
Through the trees he sees the deathly lines
Deadlines

My thesis is due in 14 days.

Thesis blues

i know exactly where to go
but how it is
i am to get there,
that, alas, i do not know

i see the sentences before me clear as day

but when i reach to grab

and pin them down

they turn shy and slip away

i try to catch them with my butterfly net

but every time i take a swing

the thoughts dissolve before my eyes

and hollow air is all i get

i have all the puzzle's pieces

but can not make them fit

there is no picture on this box

to help compose my thesis