Who wants to


Who wants to walk on your own two feet,

Striding about the city standing six feet tall,

When that uneven pavement waits for you,

To attack and give you that very nasty fall.


Who wants to use your own two hands,                

Building and creating new works of art,

Only to see them superseded by others,

In the ever changing tastes of the heart.


Who wants to talk with your own mouth,

Struggling to get heard in the many voices,

Saying the wrong thing in the vital moment,

Ruefully backtracking your bad word choices.


Who wants to see with your own two eyes,

Watching the horrors of the insane world,

Making new nightmares for you to experience,

Sweating in the night as your dreams swirled.


Who wants to hear with your own two ears,

Listening to bullies pulling your ideas down,

Destroying all your confidence and self belief,

Turning you into the obedient class clown.


Who wants to feel with your own heart,

This fragile but life sustaining organ beats,

Parading it upon your sleeve for some people,

In the deadly game of passion it competes.


Who wants to live the picture perfect life,

Without sorrow and the dull pain of loss,

No nightmares of this imperfect real world,

No wild rivers to conquer and swim across.


Who wants a lonely meaningless existence,

Drifting for days on a flat and tranquil sea,

No problems to overcome showing your skills,

Who wants a boring life like that, not me!

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