Too young to ask the right questions
Or read the map and find my direction,
I wouldn't listen when anyone told me
What I was going to be.
With some lessons unlearned, in my mold
unset,
My mind moved as quick as it ever would
get
Toward trying to couple–but alone, to
define:
Who am I?
Finding answers built on foundations
unsound
Or talents no longer possessed, broken
down,
I had to take years to take stock, try
to see:
What can I be?
In a world built for thinking in ways
that I can't
Surrender is tempting, but even if I
rise above that,
I still can't help wondering what's
wrong with me.
Who should I be?
No comments:
Post a Comment