It is a pity I had to leave,

without your consent.

How else could I grieve?

Everything I saw in you to conceive

stripped my development.

It is myself I must deceive

that it’s not more than breeze

I need for free thought or merriment.

But the dirt encased on my knees,

is your old squeeze.

You are not under my management,

but please.

I did not feel ease,

but bent,

by fates tease.

I pull huff and heave,

at the baggage bodhisattva sent.

I was never beautiful to please.

We had to leave.