I ask myself as the confetti flies
what is it that never dies?
Good spirit or great charm?
Pretention or never causing harm?
I ask myself what dreams are made of
and the response is “only of love.”
I ask myself what I want now,
to be a scientist, a gaurdian, or a sow?
I want great adventure and tokens
of a life lived unhampered by being broken.
To taste the visions I once had-
not trying will just drive me mad.