To have a right to be there ... but not to belong

is like a smooth skin with a pimple.

I find myself so often ... where I should not be

in thought and creed up to the simple.

I nullify the call of life ... in word and indeed

and find me in all the wrong places.

I don’t understand ... what makes me bleed

through the ones with most familiar faces.

“Where to be and not to be” ... is not a mystery

Unchanging place and time until I interfered.

Did not I choose to be ... where it’s now an extension?

Are decisions from the past now near to be feared?

Do I raise the children ... in my own distorted image?

Are the adults in my life suffering in my path?

As I blind as a bat ... I try to fly till senseless

hitting about everything that’s laid down in my wrath.

Are the idols in my life ... what I call idealistic?

Are the ways I follow ... paved by my desires?

Am I what is called ... “A fake in the making?”

Or am I almost ready ... to be tried by fire?

This poem did not come easily.

It did not flow from the heart.

Jan Wienen.