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.