No Joy In Luck

I don't want to be told that I'm lucky,

that's assuming I have never lifted a hand, never tasted blood,

or was locked in a prim quaint room

all my life collecting luck

in a blue jar.

I don't want to be told that I'm talented,

because I work hard, too, break every sweat

because I want to. I can't be complimented

for what was given to me.

Because I am not what I am given.

I'm not what I eat, drink, read, breathe, or listen to.

I'm an accumulation of thoughts held in a white cage

I am what I think.

And I think that this world,

brimming to eight billion, 

can be hard to fathom, but

everyone is just going along, trying their best

every day and going their own directions.

I want to be told that it's none of my business.

Nineteen years ago I said, "Hello Earth"

and I knew no one. My business was crying

and pooping. Now it's working and studying,

but someone else is doing the same thing

in Europe, Asia, Australia. None of my business.

And not knowing is the best part.

To everyone in the world,

I wish you no luck,

but rather joy.

In what you do, in where you'll be

and essentially

in what you are.