We choose,

we choose,

we walk inside a time bomb,

we make our own shadows,

we ask for nothing in return

if nobody can hear our words.

Our pity-party is only our own,

always, forever, again, that time we ask for solace,

still speaking along

that’s when its imperative,

understand our selves hold no

entitlement.

Don’t be angry.

be real, know that chemistry

fucks

with an energy

incomprehensible in its complexity.

To manage our mind,

to actually slow the rotation,

I remember taking a ride

in the city park

wondering if it would

spin me through the sky.

I just remained dizzy,

later in life,

that certain twirl,

creeped up again, again, again,

and each time I realized my anger is my own.