A life not one's own is
A life borrowed,
Stolen, but not quite that deliberate;
Only used for a time
Over and over,
Year after year shifted
From one consciousness to the next.
I live my life in segments
Taken from segment taken
From dreams I've had, or
Not had, or meant to have but
Haven't, stirred about and
Launched from
Could-Have or Would-Have
Or Couldn't-Have-Thunk-It
Moments in time.
This can wear on a person,
Peering each moment into
A life not her own,
Wondering What-If if what
She'd dreamed had
Actually Been
Or Seemed
Or Been Known.
So I cling
Precariously to You
Who is the only thing
To ever bring
Me so close
To Home.
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