the pressure

it starts, perhaps,
when an adult asks you
as a child, so what
do you want to be
when you grow up.
the pressure begins
to mount in your five
year old head
and you respond, i'm
not sure, thinking
madly about what it
is that you could
do to make it in
this world.
suddenly the crayons
in your hand,
the ball and glove
on the floor,
that swing set out
the window
has gone sour.