You do not have to be a prisoner in your own pot
A knotty mess of rules or lawlessness
What little soil remains hard and resistant to water
With roots like tired rhetoric poking out the bottom
Last flowers put up as a flag of desperation
Once upon a time you were a healthy seedling
Shotgunning new pathways all over the place
Before you thought you knew enough about the world
Before you replaced childlike wonder with presumed grownup wisdom
It’s no treat to have your roots broken up
To risk a transplant to a new, unfamiliar pot
Where survival cannot be guaranteed
But how then to know how big you could have grown?
How parched you really were?