Everyone I talk to tells me life is a set of rules,
With internal rhythm and set-in-stone schedules.
It’s a planned pursuit, a calculated crime,
With structured time, and internal rhyme,
And meter and accents that must be in place,
And synthesized flow to set a nice pace,
And a clear and concise road to success,
which will maximize profit and minimize stress,
And a future of comfort and ease awaits,
For those who simply follow their fates,
But any and all who make their own way,
Will be starving or poor or led astray.
But I don’t think so.
I think life is a journey to find yourself.
And you may not be the perfect daughter.
Or you may not be the perfect son.
Or the perfect mother, or father, or uncle,
or aunt, or cousin, or sister, or brother.
But that is okay.
Because you are finding your own way.