21 years and 9 months;
that's how long it took
for me to realize
that every morning
we all have 2 choices:
Open our eyes slowly
or open them quickly,
and it was always about attitude.
The first
is a drug.
Sheets pull us in
as if they were
an injection,
an infection,
holding us captive
in a warmth
that can only be temporary.
The second
is freedom.
A quick flash of light
sings our eyes awake,
like a shout,
like a shake,
letting go of the night
in a shotgun moment
as the first breath of air.
Of the two,
I wish to be the latter.