Am I lost for not deciding which road to call my own?
I thought the road to success was always under reconstruction, so to each man his own.
Whether a doctor or lawyer, a poet is what I'll be
For me, the future is nothing more than what I paint for my destiny.

A painter, an architect, a barista of sorts
To create my own masterpiece is what I crave
Creativity is my oxygen, practicality my carbon dioxide
Give me a cube of space then you will have slain
The very essence that lives within me and breathes my name

Like a picture, an image so still yet voice unquiet
I am willing to take as many of them until the collage screams my resounding message
Of peace, equality, and love
Like music, every note synchronized either by evens or odds
I will create a harmonious mismatch of flats and sharps

One-ways are my antagonists
The protagonist is I
The only hope I have for sanity lies between the lines
Of life and death, of all human interactions
To my soul be true, as I search for my life's goals and altruistic satisfaction