Our ordinary lives

We don’t hunt for glory,

But nature or nurture

Makes us sharper than knives.

So we carve our own future

And sometimes get ribbons;

Sometimes dirty looks.

We take stock of what’s said;

The praise or the blame;

The cautious advice

That says don’t throw the game;

The backward glances

Of those who remain;

The curses and jeers;

The praise and the tears;

And cries of jubilation.

We are not spooked

Into believing we’re made

To live others’ ordinary lives.

Our motive’s our own

And we write our own story

In life’s changing book

Unapologetic, unexplained

Hoping to mark the sentence

With an exclamation, or at least

Have it read to the end.