I’ve never felt like I’ve had to choose,
Between one thing I like or another not-so-much,
But now, before me, lies a choice,
To fill my brain or use my voice.
One one hand, lies safety and a path well trod,
But on the left, sits excitement, passion and,possibly, nothing,
But is it nothing to give my all,
If all I do is fail and fall?
I try to listen as talkers talk,
They know the truth and meaning of what they’re saying after all,
But instead of absorbing there’s a pen in my hand,
Furiously scribbling a world only I understand.
I chose to be here in a time before words,
I believed in only security and ‘normal’ lives,
But now there stretches a bridge to beyond,
And I know I can get there without a wish or wand.
A pen in my fingers and passion in my heart,
A story in my head and suppression of doubt in my gut,
Why couldn’t I, with my stories, become what I chose?
I guess there’s no choice to make, isn’t that news?