When I was born, how

When I was born, how was I to know

My origins were akin to the greatest low

That my mind was not mine to do as I wanted

But a vessel whose purpose is something near haunted?

I have none, my will is not my own;

A fear of worthlessness has easily grown.

My fear? The word is meaninglessness,

The absence of reason for all of this stress,

The word we call life.

I did not overcome this fear. I cannot.

It is not so easy as to have a positive thought.

Nothing I do is of my volition,

Any dream I have incapable of fruition.

And yet, in my heart is another word: hope

And despite that probably making me a dope,

It has kep me going, an odd safety net,

And, God willing, I'll keep going yet.