We’re born into this
into this maelstrom —this calamity of existence—
with only our hearts to guide us
We cling together, you and I,
in our lifeboat of uncertainty
Making port in bars, bookstores, and backseats of cars
Anywhere where we can feel our self.
Feel love.
Feel the thrill of life, being alive,
before the claws of reality pull us back.

We never asked to be born
so the least they could do is
let us live how we’d like

And we owe it to ourselves—to out hearts—
to live.
That way.
As long as we can.
And run when someone tells us to stop