How strange it is

To be anything at all without doubt,
Without fear,
Because of how certain we may be,
Of things that are yet to be.

If you didn't even listen,
Not because you wanted to but because you couldn't,
I wouldn't blame you.

As long as you went forth unafraid,
With the stride of eventful vindication,
All intents and purposes,
I would be happy for you.

And had she known what it would take to throw me out,
It's good that she's decided not to let me back in,
Because I would just turn her away,
My own mother.

So here we come,
The chicken denying the egg it came from,
Existing without an egg;
Consumed by the fear that it may be inevitable.