If I wake up
Each day more of the same-
Tired, stumbling worried.

If I get through
The routine of my life-
Work, study, breathe.

If I forge my path ahead-
If I refuse to walk backwards

(Can I make my life my own?)

If the days run together-
A riotous mass of colors
Like melted crayons

If I shout
My dreams that live inside me
Still unheard

If I whisper about the creeping fears
If I close my eyes against the pain

(Will I make this life my own?)

If I run against the screaming wind
Battered yet still moving
Bleeding yet still alive

Is my life my own?

The question answered.
Life will be-

Terrible, magnificent;

spilled secrets