Every Bullet

You say I'll ne'er make it to my goal

But what do you know?

I'm the clouds that pick up moisture

In steps of small amounts

And unleash blessings then onto earth;

I'm a writer who lets his words soak

The empty paper in his hands

Though rejections fill his paycheck;

I'm a comedian who has lost gigs

Yet still finds comfort in the mirth of his agony;

I'm a painter who sketches his insecurities behind closed doors,

Fixing himself in his paintings;

I'm a normal girl who dreams

Of everything she could be 

Despise the dark whispers in her ears;

You say I'll ne'er make it to my goal

But what do you know?

I take every bullet you shoot at me

And I turn it into a rung as I grow.