My life got up from the wrong foot

scaring the living-daylights out of me

and instead of cultivating good

I’ve chosen to drown in the glee

of flaying my skin from frail bones

and snapping rosy dreams in halves.

I’ve chosen to run to the alien shores,

Building fate from shortest straws.

So it burned under undying rage

without grace or last spiteful curse

I came splendidly out of the age

ignoring the obvious and making it worse.

In retrospect, I’ve should have known

The veil doesn’t help the blind.

But I was afraid of the all-powerful frown,

I just wanted for something to be mine.

It was a hollow prayer, I found,

I should have chosen myself instead.

But, at least, I now know not to bow,

and take what I need, going straight ahead.