Autobiography in Fifty Words
Autobiography in Fifty Words
I was born from love, and love buried me alive,
safety was a prison cell, support — a sweet knife,
I was cherished like a fruit that no one should taste,
and education grew me like a tree cut at the waist.
Persuasion was honey with poison at the root,
my presence burned in the classroom like a snuffed-out flame underfoot,
assignments were soft chains that tightened without pain,
and judgment — a cold sun that blossomed in the rain.
Discouragement filled me up, the emptiness grew wide within,
confusion was my roadmap, resentment — its origin,
your absence was present like an echo ringing too loud,
and deception — my most vibrant truth inside the crowd.
I fell with grace into failure, failure lifted me higher,
I ran from school into the world — the universe called me like fire,
narcotics — nothing and everything flowing in the same stream,
nowhere was my home, everywhere — the raw soil of a dream.
Comfort tore me open, addiction woke me from sleep,
everything that passed remained, everything that stays won't keep,
disappointment — a flower blooming inside its own ash,
disapproval — the light that burned through my window's latch.
I ran from myself into myself, homeless and free,
estrangement — a cold, warm, slow embrace, a fever in me,
I understood that self-reliance is both a fall and a flight,
employment — a gilded cage with the sky as its skylight.
Coercion set me free from chains made of silk,
tragedy cracked me open like a rose thorned to the hilt,
loss — a weight that somehow grew wings on my back,
and escape — the return to places that left no track.
The calling came from silence like a thunder with no sound,
determination — a thread of steel hammered into the ground,
I traveled toward myself through worlds that didn't exist,
and searched in every face for what the mirror missed.
I explored with eyes shut wide through opaque fields of light,
epiphany — a slow lightning bolt that never ends its flight,
aspiration — a thirst that deepens every time you drink,
freedom — the heaviest chain you wear right at the brink.
Opportunity — a door standing alone in an open field,
meaning found me when I'd stopped searching for what it concealed,
purpose — the purest paradox: the tighter you hold, the more it slips,
contrivance — the most honest truth that ever touched my lips.
I provoked and was provoked by my own echo's call,
I encouraged the light in those who had their backs against the wall,
volition — the final word inside a sentence without sense,
and everything I ever lived was one single verse, immense.
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