Written June 1, 2009
Everything in mine has always been mine.
Maybe, Billy Pilgrim, if I were unstuck in time,
accepting would be easier.
Maybe I could say so it goes, and so it would go,
and so it went – and mean it.
But never have I been grabbed by the hand and told,
This is where you are,
This is where you were,
This is where you will be.
The story wasn’t shown to me at the start.
Instead I am stuck on times past and present,
and I am stalled by the free will I’ve always used,
waiting for someone to capture me, too.