A collection of predestined poems that were meant to be collecting themselves just beneath the surface.


8. Opportunities

Losing my grip never makes me seize reality

As back that time winters ago

When a single party of people with greater writing skills

Made me turn in towards myself

Or what about those times down South in the summer

When thoughts of only the future consumed me

So that my family right then were invisible

For every breath I take, the opportunities are there

So why let my laziness become so uniquely important

That I can’t have just that one extra piece of favorite chocolate?

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