Selfishly Greedy me where everything, everyone directly relates to one world revolving around the sun Who I am I never have a life as much as I berate moan and groan, deprecate I'll never be a wife who then can I blame? sitting alone, every day the same Here again in this poem talking about myself focusing on the shell where cracks dwell where parts are broken The future is not with me nor in my hands the future lies dormant without any seeds abandoned plans So if I never have a life How can I complain? Is this a shame? Yes, I'll never have a child but always be my own never fully grown Selfishly Greedy me I could be someone instead I focus intently on what I'll never be Who I am
Everything is open to the winds of chance.