Was it my choice,
As a boy, to be this way;
To wake up every day,
Speak my mind –
Say what I say?
Am I just an actor
In another’s play?
Am I just a character
In someone’s book,
Tucked on a dusty shelf
Where no one may ever look?
Or maybe I’ll be like water,
Crucial to your health;
Or maybe like money,
Crucial to your wealth;
But one way or another,
I’ll be stuck like a paper weight
On the top of an old book shelf.
And maybe there,
After everyone has lost me,
I’ll find myself.