A magician gave me a magic lamp.
I rubbed it long and hard.
A genie came in a cloud of smoke
And handed me his card.
He said he could grant me three wishes
And give me my heart’s desire.
I wanted to believe him.
I was definitely inspired.
I am a ballerina who badly wants to be
Clara in the Nutcracker
For the audience to applaud and see.
No problem, said the genie,
As he whispered in my ear.
Put on your pretty, pink toe shoes
And Clara danced to cheers.
My best friend wanted to be Clara
She had worked so very hard.
She hung her head and cried
As she lifted her leg to the bar.
I run in 5K races
And asked for faster speed.
So I could beat everyone.
And finish in the lead.
Winning may be fun at first
But it became a curse.
Friends who train and train
Stopped running and complained.
I wished to become a famous artist
Who could draw and paint like Van Gogh.
The genie did one better
And people called me the second Picasso.
But no one in my art class wanted to draw with me.
It’s not fun to be famous without friends, you see.
So I stuffed the genie in the lamp and screwed the top on tight.
I screamed, “I don’t need more wishes, genie!”
Just . . let . . . me. . . be . . . me!