Saving the world is a lot harder than it used to be.
Whatever happened to the masked men,
With their capes billowing bravely in a fictitious wind?
And the alter egos:
Suspiciously buff newspaper reporters,
Who won our hearts but only occasionally won the girl.

These days, saving the world is,
Like,
Planting a tree.
There's so much environmentalist propaganda out there,
That yesterday, a man tried to sell me “green” tampons.

But this is not a poem about the environment.

This is a poem
Concerning that half-smile, gather-of-air-inside-your-heart
Feeling
That arrives when you hold an undefined dream,
A slice of incredible,
Inside your chest.
And you think, Oh, the places I'll go!
And, just for once, your plans don't make sense.
They don't even have to be plans.
I'm talking about those moments,
When destiny can be nothing more than an idea,
When your crowning glory can be an incomplete thought,
Clutched close and savored.

It's a major in college, right?
“Undecided.”
That's what I want to be when I grow up –undecided.
I'm not into this strings-attached success you're pitching down our throats.
For me, success is an adventure,
A journey,
A legacy,
A lifetime that can't be repeated.
I want to see the whole world and write down everything.
I never want to be tied down.
If I need to jump behind the wheel,
And just leave,
To follow a story (or make up a new one of my own),
Or chase a shiny new pipe dream,
I don't want to have to stop and think:
“But what about [insert obligation here]?”

The world could really use someone who knows how to be there for it,
Who can navigate its back alleyways,
And keep its diary.
Humanity could use another legend,
Who wears a cape and is vintagely valiant,
Who does what she wants and what she loves,
And doesn't let the un-biodegradable state of her feminine products slow her down.

So, I'm going to save the world.
But to do that,
It only makes sense to save myself first.